Breeding Season
by Christine Morgan
Summary: The clan has chosen to begin a new generation, with some unforeseen effects. Sexual content, violence, trauma. #46 in an ongoing saga.


Breeding Season   
by Christine Morgan   
christine@sabledrake.com / http://www.christine-morgan.org

* * *

  
Author's Note: the characters of Gargoyles belong to Disney and are used  
here without their creators' knowledge or consent. Other characters may  
not be used without the author's permission. This story is for mature  
readers only due to adult content. 

#46 in an ongoing saga.   


* * *

  
Credits:  
TarrenTech and New Wave Microtechnologies belong to John  
Saul and Dean Koontz respectively.  
Chas Yale and Eric are the creations of Christi Hayden.   


* * *

  
  
  
  
"Now, this is the way it's supposed to be," Hudson said  
contentedly as the group of females darted in and out between the towers  
in a merry game of tag. "It's all well and good to know our clan continues  
on Avalon, but our clan here needs its new generation, too."  
"Yes," Goliath said, smiling. "And now that we have four  
females instead of just Angela, we will have that new generation."  
"Ye didna count Elisa."  
He stayed silent for so long that Hudson cleared his throat and  
made ready to apologize, but then Goliath spoke. "I only dare to hope, old  
friend. It may not be possible."  
"There's yer proof," Hudson said, pointing to Elektra as she  
skillfully evaded Aiden. "It is possible. Aye, with magic, but that gift she  
gave Elisa may be sorcery enough."  
"It may be. If Elisa is willing. I know she is reluctant, uncertain.  
If our love does create a child --" his fist closed yearningly, as if to grasp  
that wish and make it real, "-- it is Elisa who must go out among the  
humans every day. She would not cut herself off from them, from her job.  
It is Elisa who must face the speculations, answer the questions."  
Hudson nodded in understanding. "Ye're right, lad. I hadn't  
thought of how it might be for her. I was only thinking of the rookery.  
Counting the eggs before they're laid. Of course it'll be hard for Elisa.  
But ye love her, and she loves ye, and if I've faith in nothing else, I have  
faith in that. Yer love's saved her life once by a miracle; why not work  
another?"  
Goliath clapped him on the shoulder. "If only it were so easy."  
"Ah, well, at the very least," Hudson chortled, "ye can have fun  
trying!"  
  
* *  
  
"Good evening, detective," Xanatos said with his familiar  
knowing smirk. "Ready for the big night?"  
The other two people in the room turned to regard her curiously.  
The woman had brown hair worn in a severe bun and overlarge glasses  
that made her look bookish and unattractive. The man had striking green  
eyes and a short beard a few shades darker than his auburn hair.  
"You wanted to see me, Xanatos?" Elisa asked, ignoring his  
smirk.  
"Yes, I thought you might like to meet the medical team. Dr.  
Irene Johnson, an expert in reproductive technologies and behavior, and  
Dr. Kurt Masters, whose degrees are in genetics and anthropology.  
Doctors, this is Detective Elisa Maza."  
The auburn-haired man laughed. "I know just what you're going  
to ask. No relation. Pure coincidence. But you'd be amazed how easy it  
makes getting our research grants."  
"They're going to be tracking the progress of the breeding  
season," Xanatos explained. "Since we're not dealing purely with gargoyle  
DNA here --" he caught her warning glare and hurried on, "considering  
that both Elektra and Delilah have some human ancestry, we thought it  
would be best to have some professionals on hand."  
"_We_?" she said pointedly.  
"Goliath is in full agreement with me on this," Xanatos said.  
"The doctors will be monitoring _only_, no meddling. He was very  
emphatic about that."  
"I can imagine."  
"I assure you, detective, we're nothing like Anton Sevarius,"  
Kurt Masters said. "We're familiar with his theories, of course --  
everybody who's anybody in the field today has to be -- and Mr. Xanatos  
has given us access to some of his classified files regarding gargoyle  
biology. But we're not interested in continuing his work."  
"Then what are you interested in?" Elisa demanded.  
"Observing. Though gargoyles have apparently been around for  
thousands of years, they're a new species as far as science is concerned.  
We know next to nothing about the only other sentient species to share our  
planet --"  
Elisa raised a questioning eyebrow at Xanatos and he shook his  
head slightly. "One thing at a time," he said.  
Barely noticing their exchange, Kurt went on. He had warmed to  
his topic now. "There's no fossil record, all encounters with them in the  
past has been discounted as superstition. They are evidently able to control  
their fertility at will, yet they couple even when they know there's no  
chance of conception."  
"So do humans," Elisa said.  
"Only very recently, in terms of our evolution. Most animals  
have outwardly distinctive signals of fertility, and only mate during those  
times. Humans were among the primate species who evolved differently.  
The males had no way of knowing when or if the females were fertile, so  
it was in their own genetic best interest to stick around instead of mating  
and leaving. That was what helped us develop civilization and family  
groups, which were necessary because our young required more time,  
care, and attention."  
"I think we're wandering from the point, here," Xanatos said.  
"Yes, sorry. So, what we have here is a species with a very  
clearly differentiated pattern of behaviors for reproductive sex and  
recreational sex. It's new, it's fascinating. We don't know how it works.  
We suspect the females stimulate sperm production in the males by  
releasing pheromones, but the females voluntarily and ritualistically  
choose the moment to begin doing so. That's the part we don't understand.  
They are somehow _willing_ themselves to be fertile. Which is why we'll  
be watching the readouts very carefully, trying to determine just what  
triggers --"  
"What readouts?" Elisa cut in suspiciously. "You're not going to  
have them hooked up to machines, are you?"  
Masters nodded happily. "Both Angela and Elektra have agreed to  
be monitored during tonight's ritual. So has one of the males, Brooklyn."  
"Does Hudson know about this?" Elisa asked Xanatos. "Tonight  
is very important to him, possibly even more important than it is to any of  
the others, and he's not going to be happy if the rookery's cluttered with  
medical equipment!"  
"He's agreeable," Xanatos said, taking the wind out of her sails.  
"The devices are very small," Masters added, holding out a small  
curved metal device the size of a deck of cards. "Clamps onto the calf.  
They'll track temperature, heart rate, galvanic skin response, alpha waves,  
and blood chemistry. It's a completely non-invasive procedure. Then we'll  
just collect samples --"  
"Samples?!"  
"From Brooklyn," Masters went on, unperturbed by her outburst.  
"He's already provided us with the 'before' vial ..."  
"I don't think I need to know!" Elisa said hastily. "I can't believe  
they're letting you do all this!"  
"Why not? They're curious about their own species. It seems  
perfectly understandable to me."  
Elisa, utterly nonplussed, just looked at him. Then at Dr.  
Johnson, who had yet to say word one.  
"Speaking of which," Masters said diffidently, "the chance to  
study the process in a gargoyle-human mating would be --"  
"Forget it!" she snapped.  
"I told you so," Xanatos told him.  
Masters shrugged agreeably. "I thought as much. Goliath wasn't  
very keen on the idea either. But I do hope that you'll accept our  
assistance in monitoring any resultant pregnancy and delivery. You'd want  
the best possible pre-natal care, and given the circumstances, that's not  
something the average obstetrician is going to be able to provide."  
"You're getting way ahead of yourself," Elisa said. "If something  
were to happen, yes, I would want the best possible care. But that's an if,  
a big if!" She headed for the door.  
"Just so you keep it in mind. Nice meeting you, detective."  
  
* *  
"It's nearly time!" Angela called over the rushing wind. "We  
should start back!"  
Their game had taken them a couple of miles from the castle, far  
above the twinkling lights of the city. They'd all been too excited to sit  
still, unable to wait for midnight. Finally, Hudson had shooed them  
skyward, telling them they'd best work off their nervous energy before  
they got down to serious matters.  
"Are you sure you know what to do?" Aiden asked.  
"Hudson told me everything he knows. Besides, our sisters on  
Avalon figured it out, didn't they, Elektra?"  
"That they did, though I did not join them."  
"Why not?" Delilah asked. "Is it not good to have children? I am  
wanting very much to have children. Samson and I, we are often taking  
care of Dee and Tom."  
"I had no mate then," Elektra said softly. "And better so, for the  
one I might have chosen would have proved unsuitable. Far gladder am I  
now, for Broadway's heart is true."  
"We're all gladder now," Aiden said.  
They all smiled at each other, then winged their way toward the  
towers.  
  
* *  
  
Elisa stepped out and saw Goliath, his silhouette blocking out the  
stars as he stood staring into the night. She put her hands in her jacket  
pockets and watched him silently, until he sensed her presence and turned.  
"Elisa."  
"I've just been talking to Xanatos and his doctors."  
He exhaled heavily. "You do not approve?"  
"I would have liked to know about it before. And I'm surprised  
_you_ approve."  
"We have the chance to learn more about our race. As long as it  
does not harm my clan in any way, as long as those who volunteer to  
participate do so willingly, I see no reason not to allow it."  
"But you didn't volunteer us. Why?"  
"You would have had me do so?"  
"No, but I'm curious about your reasons for refusing."  
He gently took her shoulders in his large hands. "What is between  
us is ours alone. All that matters to me is that I love you. I don't want  
anyone else trying to define our love in scientific terms."  
"What about the breeding season? I know you want it to work for  
us. I know you want a child."  
"Not more than I want you."  
Elisa smiled and let him draw her into his arms, resting her head  
against his chest. "So, whatever happens, happens. And we'll still have  
each other."  
"Now and forever," he agreed.  
"I just don't want you to be disappointed."  
"I have a thriving clan, a beautiful mate, and I will see my  
grandchildren hatch and grow. That is all that I need." He leaned close,  
brushed a kiss against her brow. "Now I must go see that the females are  
ready. It is almost midnight."  
"Okay." She watched him go, and then her hand closed around  
the amber pendant, feeling its faint tingling pulse.  
  
* *  
  
Hudson lit the final lamp, nodding to himself in satisfaction.  
A series of wide ledges rose above the heap of fresh straw on the  
rookery floor. The walls were ringed with shallow niches at varying  
heights, each of which now held a smooth stone with a hollow in the  
center. The hollows held not the tallow Hudson remembered from the old  
days, but a colorless oil that Xanatos had provided. The light from those  
lamps shed a faint, flickering glow.  
He looked around at the large, empty space and his chest  
tightened with old sorrow. Once, every adult in the clan would have come  
in, the breeding females gathering in the center of the chamber, their  
mates on the lowest ledge, and the rest of the warriors arrayed behind  
them. In rare, special times, the prince might join them as a guest.  
Now there were more humans in here than had ever been before.  
On one of the higher ledges nearest the entrance, Xanatos' doctors  
huddled discreetly with their devices. Xanatos himself stood near them,  
with Owen on one side and Fox, her older son T.J. (the lad looking like  
he'd rather be anyplace else), and clan-friend Birdie Yale on the other.  
Standing a bit apart from them were Talon and Maggie, their  
children upstairs in the nursery with Alexander. The last of their mutate  
clan, Claw, was still deep in a coma, the result of an attack on the  
Labyrinth several months ago.  
Delilah's mate Samson came in, giving the doctors plenty of  
room and a wary glance -- the lad had never quite gotten over his fear of  
doctors, Hudson knew, small wonder. He'd been born human, born a  
Sevarius, no less. Now, thanks to his own father's determination to save  
his son from a crippling disease, Samson stood nearly as tall as Goliath,  
with a shaggy pelt and a long mane of dark silky fur. His large eyes  
became reflective gold-green disks as the firelight hit them.  
"Over here, lad," Hudson called, showing Samson where to  
stand. "The others'll be along shortly."  
As if on cue, Brooklyn, Lex, and Broadway appeared and took  
their places on the lowest ledge, not without a little bit of jostling and  
joshing, until Hudson's eye fell sternly on them. Then all three cleared  
their throats and put on innocent, respectful faces.  
One person was missing, and that conspicuous absence did not go  
unnoticed by anybody in the room. Hudson smothered a sigh. It was  
midnight, and time to begin.  
Goliath descended into the rookery and approached Hudson,  
showing no sign of the pain that one absence must have caused him.  
"Elder," he said formally, "the females of my clan wish to  
breed."  
Tradition normally would have given this honor to a female elder  
with many successful breeding seasons behind her. But, since the only  
older female associated with the clan was Demona, Hudson had decided  
some changes in tradition were necessary.  
He'd have to get used to changes, anyway, since Angela and her  
sisters were determined to keep track of their own eggs and raise the  
hatchlings to know who their parents were. He'd even heard them  
planning to have their mates attend the laying, although that went against  
all custom. Some mysteries of femalehood were not for the ken of males.  
"Bring them forward," Hudson said.  
The four females filed in, Angela in the lead. They were radiant,  
beautiful and desirable, with their hair and wings shining in the lamplight.  
Wreaths of heather, grown especially by Alexander and Puck for the  
occasion, adorned their heads.  
"Is the clan safe and well-provided?" Hudson asked.  
"It is," Goliath replied.  
"Have ye mates to protect ye when ye are with egg?"  
"We have," the females chorused.  
"Does the clan swear to look after the hatchlings and raise them  
well?"  
"We do," everybody else who had been properly coached said.  
Slowly and with great ceremony, Hudson inclined his head.  
"Then let it be so."  
Angela, Delilah, Aiden, and Elektra folded their legs gracefully  
to sit in a circle with linked hands.  
A hush fell over the room, broken only by the muted sounds of  
the medical equipment as the small silvery devices attached to Angela's,  
Elektra's, and Brooklyn's calves began to transmit readings.  
Hudson tasted minerals and realized slow tears were leaking from  
his good eye. He couldn't help but think of Joy, his own lost love. He had  
never had the chance to see her with heather in her hair, never had the  
chance to stand on the lowest ledge.  
A solemn but joyful anticipation began to build in the room. At  
any moment, Hudson knew, one of the females would begin the  
instinctive, ritual humming.  
"Wait ..."  
All heads turned as one.  
"You're standing in the wrong place," Elisa said to Goliath, as  
she stepped into the straw to join the others.  
  
* *  
  
Angela cried out in delight and sprang up to hug Elisa. She and  
Elektra scooted sideways, opening the circle to make room. Aiden plucked  
some of the heather from her hair and shyly offered it, and Elisa wound  
the prickly white-purple tufts into her own. All the while, her dark eyes  
never left Goliath.  
He searched her gaze, wanting to be sure she meant what she did.  
Instead of the uncertainty he had seen only a short while ago, there was  
only love, desire, and acceptance.  
He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak for fear he would  
weep with happiness instead. He moved to the lowest ledge, among the  
younger males who all wore foolish grins. Brooklyn even went so far as so  
sock him playfully on the arm in congratulations.  
Hudson cleared his throat. "Let it be so," he said again, thickly,  
tears glinting like diamonds caught in his beard.  
Elisa joined hands with the other females, and all five of them  
closed their eyes. Once more, the expectant hush settled over the rookery.  
Masters murmured into a tape recorder. "Alpha waves are taking  
on a pattern consistent with heightened concentration ... BP dropping  
slightly ..."  
Angela began to hum, her body swaying gently. Elektra joined in,  
then Aiden, then Delilah. Finally Elisa, too, added her voice. The hum  
rose in pitch, then the females opened their mouths and it turned into a  
steady, sustained wordless vocalization.  
"Temperature starting to climb ... in humans, a change in body  
temp is one of the indicators of ovulation ..."  
A hint of a scent reached Goliath, a scent like cinnamon and  
wine. As it grew stronger, he breathed deeply, drawing it into his lungs. A  
spot of warmth blossomed in him, spreading and coursing through his  
limbs, wings, and tail.  
He started to hum, a low thrumming counterpoint to the females'  
rising crescendo. He was dimly aware of Brooklyn picking up the  
harmony, then Broadway and Lex, but most of his attention was fixed on  
Elisa.  
Elisa, her features so soft and alien in the shifting light, her form  
so different compared to the others around her. Elisa, who had never  
looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment, with her head  
tipped back and her heather-adorned hair streaming like a river of black  
satin over her wingless shoulders.  
He knew then that even if they were never to have children, he  
would love her all the more for the wonderful gesture of devotion she had  
offered him this night.  
Finally Samson tentatively lifted his voice as well, the strange  
eerie woodland quality of it somehow mingling perfectly with the rest.  
The scent was everywhere. Rich, evocative, seductive. Goliath  
knew that in the long-ago past, in the dim history of gargoyle-kind, that  
scent alone would have been enough to drive males to a frenzy. They  
  
would have competed amongst themselves for breeding rights to the  
females, the leader of the clan able to claim as many as he could  
reasonably sustain. He spared a moment to be glad that times had  
changed, for he wanted only one, only Elisa.  
  
* *  
  
"I've never been up here before," Elisa said as Goliath unlocked  
the door. "What is this place?"  
"Prince Malcolm's great-grandfather gave this chamber to an  
elder of our clan," Goliath said. "She had an interest in alchemy."  
"You mean turning things into gold?"  
"That was part of it." He was carrying a brass candleholder, and  
used the flame to light the logs ready in the fireplace, banishing the chill  
that stone-walled castle rooms tended to hold even on the warmest of  
summer nights. "Which is why it is so removed from the rest of the  
inhabited sections. Alchemy was not without its dangers, and so although  
she seldom practiced it, she had a place of her own where she would not  
be interrupted."  
The smallest of Castle Wyvern's towers was built around a spiral  
stair that continued in a single unbroken shaft from the dungeon to the  
room at the tower's height. The room was round, with a flat roof  
accessible by a trap door. Narrow windows were evenly spaced around the  
curved wall.  
Elisa looked amusedly at the massive bed. It was made from solid  
rough-hewn oak, sturdy enough to support the weight of a gargoyle. The  
draperies and bedclothes were most definitely _not_ tenth-century. "And  
just why have you brought me here?"  
"Can't you guess?" He touched her cheek, her chin. "I meant for  
this to be our bridal chamber, had Xanatos not offered us the use of his  
private retreat."  
"You never mentioned it."  
"I thought to surprise you."  
"We were married over eight months ago. Why haven't you  
brought me here before?"  
"I wanted to save it, in case ..."  
"Save it for a night like tonight?"  
He nodded.  
"Have you ever ..." she didn't want to ask, but she had to.  
Before she could even finish the question, though, he was shaking his  
head.  
"I have brought no other females here."  
"Why not?"  
"It never seemed right, until now." He smiled ruefully. "She  
whose chamber this was ... she did not much care for my choice in mates  
back then. But I believe she would approve of you."  
"Of a human?"  
"Of _you_, Elisa, my Elisa."  
"Tell me about her," Elisa invited, curious. "She was an  
alchemist?"  
"She was a scholar as well. It was from her that many of us  
learned to read." He trailed his fingers along a wide shelf, the old wood  
pitted and scarred with burns and stains in strange colors. "And I ... I was  
her favored student."  
"You don't sound very happy about it."  
"When we were in Africa, I explained to your mother how it was  
not the gargoyle way to show preference to one hatchling over another,  
that we could not give special treatment. Yet I had known such special  
treatment as a hatchling. I worried that my rookery brothers and sisters  
might resent me for it. So, as I grew older, I spent less time with her." He  
sighed. "We drifted apart. It was only after her death that I realized what I  
had lost, what she was trying to teach me. I started coming back here,  
alone, to continue my studies."  
"Let me guess -- it turned out that's what eventually helped you  
become leader."  
"Yes. I think ... I _hope_ she would have been proud."  
"How did she die?"  
His eyes took on a remembering, faraway haze. "One night, as I  
was out hunting with my brother, Coldstone, I thought I heard her calling  
me. I knew she needed me. I reached this room just in time to say good-  
bye. She put her knuckles to my brow ridges, and then she was gone."  
Elisa put her arms around him. "I'm sorry."  
"She had lived a very long time. She was of the generation before  
the leader before Hudson. I did not grieve for her, but for myself, since I  
had lost a friend."  
"Goliath ... what did she look like?"  
"Like I imagine Angela might look someday. Her skin was that  
same shade, but her hair, which she told me had once been dark, had gone  
the soft grey of the clouds."  
"This might sound crazy, but ... did you ever think that maybe  
she was your mother?"  
"My ..." he began, then stopped, shocked. "My mother?"  
"And that maybe she knew?"  
"My mother," he said again, as if rolling the idea around in his  
head. "I suppose you could be right. I never thought of it. But now that I  
do, I hope it is true. And I am more sure than ever that she would approve  
of you."  
"Thank you. For that, for bringing me here. Now I understand  
what this room means to you."  
He stroked her hair, plucking an errant bit of heather from it.  
"Now, more than ever, I am glad I did. I can think of no better place to  
conceive our child."  
"Well, I don't know ..." she said, unable to keep the corners of  
her mouth from turning up. "In my mother-in-law's bedroom?"  
"You'd rather we followed Brooklyn and Angela's example and  
take to the high battlements?" He pointed to one of the windows, through  
which she could clearly see two shadows twined together against the  
moon. "_That_ is more in keeping with clan tradition."  
"This will be fine," she quickly asserted, thinking about Xanatos'  
security cameras that completely covered the outside of the castle.  
He turned serious again. "What you did tonight, Elisa ... I  
thought it earlier, but I will tell it to you now. Even if we do not have  
children, for what you did tonight, I love you all the more."  
"You didn't have to say a word. I saw it in your eyes the minute I  
walked through the door, and I knew I was doing the right thing. Look,  
Goliath." She pulled a fine chain from the collar of her shirt. At the end of  
it, the amber pendant dangled. In its depths, golden light mirrored the beat  
of a gargoyle heart. "During the ceremony, I felt it warm up. Like a coal  
against my skin. And now it's glowing."  
"The magic ..."  
He took it between his thumb and forefinger in such a delicate  
motion that Elisa shivered. She knew how powerful his hands were, how  
he could crush the gemstone, yet he handled it so carefully ... just as he  
handled her body.  
His gaze shifted from the pulsing stone to her eyes. Her breathing  
quickened; warmth flushed her face.  
Almost of their own volition, her hands clasped lightly over his,  
then slid up his arms to his shoulders. The coarse sable of his hair flowed  
over them as he bent to kiss her.  
Their first time together had been one of completion, she  
remembered as he folded her into the twin embrace of arms and wings.  
Completion of something begun years before. They had approached each  
other then with desire underlaid by trepidation, the sense of treading in  
forbidden lands. Concern had tinged their passion -- would they be  
compatible physically? Would what they felt for each other be somehow  
diminished by the actual act of lovemaking? Those questions had been  
answered most satisfactorily.  
This time was something different, something more. The passion  
was still there, but with a new sense of purpose. Goliath's touch was awed  
and reverent, as he understood and appreciated far better than she did  
what a miracle it was to bring new life into the world. For gargoyles, she  
realized as he lifted her to the bed, the breeding season was the closest  
they had to a religious rite.  
Elisa gave herself over to his caresses. Although she knew every  
telltale sign of his arousal and all were readily apparent, he was in no  
hurry. His hands moved over every inch of her, undressing her as if  
unwrapping a long-anticipated gift, tracing and molding the curves of her  
shape.  
He knew her signs of arousal, too, knew just the moment when  
she was at her most responsive, just before her cresting desire would slip  
over into a frantic jumble of need. He lowered himself over her, bracing  
himself on his elbows. As he began to push gently into her, as she began  
the inward-spiraling glide of her climax, she pulled him down to feel the  
delicious press of his weight.  
"Elisa," he murmured, trying to rise. "I'll hurt you."  
"You won't," she said, her breath coming in shallow sips. "You  
never will."  
"Never," he agreed, the strain of holding back now evident on his  
face.  
She stroked along his back, along the velvety folds of his wings.  
"Now, Goliath. Please, now."  
His reply was a shuddering growl of consent. Her upturned face  
was bathed in the glow of his eyes as his body tensed, held the tension for  
a short eternity, and then loosed.  
"Oh, yes," Elisa sighed.  
She reached for the amber pendant, had a bad moment when she  
thought it might have been caught between them and crushed, and then felt  
it nestled in the hollow of her throat, where it had rolled.  
"Well, Avalon," she whispered, "now it's up to you."  
  
* *  
  
Fox was on the phone when her husband came in. She flashed  
him a smile and waved him to wait while she wrapped up her  
conversation. "Yes, thanks again! I know he'll have a great time. I'll talk  
to David about the arrangements, and call you back when everything's set.  
Yes, uh-huh. Okay. Good-bye."  
"Who was that?" he asked as she hung up.  
"Lydia. I wanted to see if she and Petros could take Alex for a  
while."  
He faltered in the act of removing his tie and looked at her. "You  
mean, send him to stay with them? By himself?"  
She nodded briskly. "Why not?"  
"Why?"  
"How long is this breeding business going to go on?"  
He blinked at what he thought was a sudden change of subject,  
but replied, "According to Hudson, the last season went three or four  
months. It's supposed to continue until all the eligible females have  
conceived."  
"Three or four months!"  
"Well, they did have twenty females, so it probably took longer.  
But what does that have to do with anything?"  
"David, darling, it's been two weeks already, and we can't keep  
Alex from noticing forever! I've already asked Angela and Brooklyn to try  
and keep their voices down, but they can't, not even when I threaten them  
with a bucket of cold water. It's waking Alex up, and me too, for that  
matter. I don't think he's ready to look out his window and get a firsthand  
view of the birds and the bees, gargoyle-style."  
He chuckled. "Funny to hear you being the prude."  
"I'm not being the prude, I'm just being a concerned mother.  
Actually, as far as the gargoyles go, I'm very impressed. If the  
pheromones they produced worked on humans and we could bottle it ..."  
"What makes you so sure they don't work on humans?" He  
slipped his arms around her. "After all, the past two weeks have been  
fabulous for some other mated pairs of which I know."  
"That could be psychological," she said, nibbling at his ear. "It  
could come from seeing, hearing, and just generally being aware of what's  
going on. They are awfully sexy, and so uninhibited!"  
"Whatever the reason, we're not immune. Neither is Owen, for  
that matter. He hadn't been up to the Academy in a month, and then he's  
gone the past two weekends and twice more during the week, on urgent  
errands that sounded terribly unconvincing."  
"All the more reason for Alex to not be here. This castle has  
turned into Peyton Place. I'm just glad T.J. moved out --"  
"Sure, into an apartment with Birdie," Xanatos cut in with a grin.  
"I'm sure _that's_ purely innocent."  
She pinched his rear. "The point is, this isn't a place for children  
right now. I think Alex would be better off having a vacation with his  
grandparents. Buy us some time before we have to answer all those big  
questions."  
He hesitated, frowning.  
"David, what _is_ the matter? I thought you liked Lydia."  
"It's not that. I'm thinking about what happened last time. I don't  
like the thought of Alex being so far away. And before you ask, I can't  
leave the city right now. Not with the tasty government contracts coming  
up for bid over the next few months."  
"Alex and I could go," she suggested.  
He laughed. "And leave me unsupervised with all these raging  
gargoyle pheromones in the air? I didn't think you trusted me that much."  
"Good point. But what are we going to do, then?"  
"I think Alex can handle it. Medieval kids did."  
"Medieval kids also handled the Black Plague, privy trenches,  
and Viking invasions."  
  
  
* *  
  
Broadway glided down into the garden and saw his mate, sitting  
on a bench and plaiting flowers into a chain.  
He paused and watched her for a little while, unable to believe  
his good luck. That she would be his friend? Sure, that was no problem.  
That she would be his mate? Surprising, but wonderful. That she would  
turn out to be an enthusiastic lover who wasn't the least bit put off by his  
admittedly rotund physique? More than he could have hoped.  
Elektra sensed him and looked up with a sweet, beautiful smile.  
"There you are! How was patrol?"  
"Terrible."  
Instant concern flooded her delicate features. "Are you hurt?"  
"No, but it was terrible being away from you. Brooklyn says  
Goliath's being sadistic."  
"He's being a leader," she said. "We cannot spend every minute  
of the night making love."  
"I wouldn't mind." He tipped her chin up and kissed her, part of  
him still marvelling that he was actually doing so and she was actually  
letting him. Months of yearning from afar weren't easy to get over, even  
when the dream came true.  
"You know," she said when he ended the kiss and sat beside her,  
"we don't need to be quite so diligent about it anymore."  
"About what?"  
She held up the chain of flowers. "Silly, isn't it? But I felt the  
need to make something with my hands, and as I cannot knit, I couldn't  
make booties."  
"Afraid you lost me," he said, rubbing his scalp.  
If her earlier smile had been sweet and beautiful, this one was  
breathtaking. She set aside the flowers, grasped his hands, and led them to  
her waist. "You're to be a father! Dr. Masters confirmed it this evening."  
He gaped at her, then broke into a wide, happy grin. "You're --"  
"I am!"  
"Elektra!" He swept her close, then froze and gingerly set her  
down. "Are you ... is it okay?"  
"Of course 'tis all right! I'm not made of crystal, my love. I can  
yet do anything I could before." She brushed her lips against his cheek.  
"Anything at all."  
He pulled her close again, rubbing their brow ridges together.  
"Glad to hear it. Hey! We're first? We're first! Brooklyn owes me a  
pizza!"  
"Oh, you rogue!" she laughed. "Rogues the pair of you!"  
"Rogues the three of us," he confessed. "Lex was in on it, too."  
  
* *  
  
The thing about tinted glass, David Xanatos thought amusedly,  
was how easy it was to forget that it was only opaque on one side.  
He crossed his office, laced his hands behind his back and  
voyeured for a few minutes, then slid open the door and poked his head  
out.  
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but I am trying to work in here.  
Think you could find another ledge?"  
Aiden Ferguson sprang up, realized the state of her apparel, and  
swiftly folded her arms across her chest like a sleeping vampire, thereby  
bringing her wing membranes concealingly around herself. "Mr.  
Xanatos!"  
"Oh, oops," her mate Lex said, far less concerned about  
modesty.  
Aiden squealed and hopped sideways as Lex's tail slipped under  
her wings. "We're so sorry! We weren't paying attention! We were  
gliding, and ... and ..."  
"And I can guess," Xanatos replied with an indulgent smirk. "Just  
not in front of my office windows, all right?"  
"I told you we should have gone inside!" Aiden hissed, trying to  
swat at Lex's hands and tail without letting anything show.  
"You did not," he said. "You started to, but then you got  
distracted."  
She spun around and did some quick adjusting, getting her tunic  
more or less in place. "Well, _now_ we'd better!"  
"Not if I distract you again first!"  
Aiden jumped from the ledge with Lex in pursuit, and Xanatos  
chuckled and closed the window.  
  
* *  
  
Kurt Masters consulted his notes one final time. "I'm sorry," he  
said, "but the tests show that the two of you just are not genetically  
compatible."  
Her breath hitched, but she was determined not to show him how  
upset that news made her. With a single nod, she got up and left the  
office.  
  
* *  
  
Angela skimmed over the skyscrapers, reveling in the feel of the  
wind sluicing over her skin, rippling through her hair. It constantly  
amazed her how alive all of her senses felt now. The city beneath her was  
a kaleidoscope of light and color (and also of smells ranging from the  
enticing to the truly appalling, but she chose not to notice the latter).  
Her destination appeared before her, and she descended toward  
the roof. It had changed since the last time she was here, and she regarded  
the dark-glass pyramid-shaped skylights with curiosity as she landed.  
She pressed her face to one and peered in, puzzled at what she  
saw. Towering sculptures of obsidian stone, faintly shimmering pools ...  
"What is this place?" she wondered softly to herself.  
"My sanctuary."  
Angela gasped and whirled, readying her claws. "Jericho!"  
"Hello, sister dear. How good of you to pay a visit. It's been a  
while." Her brother let the roof access door swing shut behind him, and  
strode forward with a welcoming smile. "You look well."  
She backed away from him. "I was looking for our mother." She  
put a particular, hard emphasis on the last two words, a disapproval that  
he couldn't have missed.  
Apparently untroubled by it, Jericho shrugged. "She's out of  
town for a few days. We've opened a new facility in Atlanta, did you  
know? Despite those troubles we had last year, Nightstone is coming back  
bigger and better than ever. I know she'll be sorry she missed you. Maybe  
you should come by the house sometime?"  
"I don't know where her new house is," Angela replied icily.  
"There was, I believe, some fear that I might tattle. Seen as how you  
killed all those people in the Labyrinth and stole the clones!"  
"The clones are doing fine," he said, as if he hadn't heard the rest  
of it. "Hollywood's death was a blow to their morale, but we've resolved  
to be far more careful in the future." He gestured at the skylights. "Would  
you like to come in?"  
"No, thank you."  
"Still harboring grudges, I see."  
"A trait I inherited from _our_ _mother_."  
He laughed and leaned against the slope of glass, propping one  
foot up behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. It was a pose she  
remembered well from their youth on Avalon. How far away that all  
seemed now! A literal world away!  
"I imagine," Jericho said, "that a fair amount of the grudge-  
holding genes came from _our_ _father_, too."  
"How can you stand there as if nothing's happened?" Angela  
demanded, starting to shake in irritation that would soon turn to fury.  
"After all you've done?"  
"_I_ can deal with what I've done. You're the one that can't."  
"You tried to kill my mate."  
"I was provoked." He leisurely drew a knife, and she wasn't  
alarmed because she was familiar with that habit of his too. He began  
cleaning his talons with it, then looked over at her from beneath a lock of  
hair that had fallen across his brow. "Tell the truth, Angela, when you  
first heard of his ... shall we say, liaison ... with Demona, didn't you  
want to choke the life out of him yourself?"  
She flushed. "Not at all!"  
"You never were a good liar, sister dear."  
"Jericho, what's happened to you?" she asked pleadingly. "You  
never used to be like this. Why do you hate my clan?"  
"Do we have to go over it again?" He ticked them off on his  
fingers. "Goliath's gluttony for glory and refusal to listen to his own  
second-in-command destroyed the clan, then he abandoned our eggs, gave  
us over to be raised by humans, and when he did finally get around to  
checking up on us, he had the nerve to be ashamed of us. Never mind how  
he and the rest of his clan treated Demona."  
"Yes, I know all that!" she said, exasperated. "You're as bad as  
she is; all one note like a broken record! With her, it's 'the humans' this  
and 'the humans' that, with you, it's all Goliath. And it's getting old. I  
was just hoping I could get through to you somehow! You were one of my  
favorite brothers once, and now you're a stranger. You were never like  
this on Avalon."  
"Oh, yes, Avalon. Home sweet home." He started on the other  
hand's talons. "That was the cocoon, the chrysalis. I slept on Avalon like  
a caterpillar. Now I've emerged. This is who I was truly meant to be,  
Angela. This is my place."  
"Why do I keep trying?" she queried of the skies. "Why do I  
bother?"  
"Because your heart knows better than your head," he said. "You  
always did have a good heart, one that wanted the best for everyone you  
cared about. Your heart still wants to love us, despite all your head does  
to tell you otherwise."  
"For all the good it does! All the love in the world won't change  
the two of you! Don't you think I've tried?"  
He returned the knife to its scabbard. "I know you have, Angela.  
It makes Demona weep to think of how hard you've tried. She loves you,  
but her heart cannot do what you would want of her. Her heart cannot  
forgive all the wrongs she's done, and _been_ done. Sometimes I think  
she'd be happier if you hated her."  
Angela drew in a hurt breath. "I don't want to hate her!"  
"But she can't accept your love with all the terms you attach.  
You'd wish her to give up everything, return to the clan -- who would not  
accept her anyway, Angela, you must know that! She can't do it, not even  
if she loved you more than life itself."  
"Is it so wrong to want us all to be happy?"  
"It's not wrong to want it, but you have to see that it can't  
happen, not the way you want it to." He flipped back his hair and faced  
her directly. "Look at me, sister. You know what I am to Demona, what  
she is to me. Would your clan tolerate that?"  
Her shaking this time was not of rage, but of revulsion. "No."  
"See how you've changed them, in such a short time," he said.  
"Before you learned of your parentage, no one would have cared."  
"It's not right."  
"By whose standards? Humans?" he scoffed. "They do the like,  
and worse, all the time."  
"It's not the same ..."  
His grin was devilish. "Why, because we're gargoyles, and better  
than them?"  
"That's not what I was going to say!"  
Jericho stepped toward her. "Angela, don't you remember what it  
was like back on Avalon? We were all brothers and sisters, and no one  
paid any mind to who might be close blood kin to whom. You played at  
mates with many of our brothers. If you hadn't been so infatuated with  
Gabriel, you might have even done so with me."  
"No! That's horrible!"  
"Maybe to your ears now, it is, but then, you wouldn't have  
known, you wouldn't have cared. If I hadn't been so resentful of him --  
you see, I can admit it freely now! -- I would have certainly been willing.  
But I couldn't stand the thought of being compared to Gabriel, of possibly  
being ranked second to him in that as well. That's why I refused  
Tourmaline when she, failing to win him for her own, came crawling back  
to me."  
"Jericho --"  
"But on Avalon," he persisted, "it wouldn't have mattered,  
_shouldn't_ have mattered, to either of us that we might have the same  
parents."  
"It matters now! Or does to me at least!"  
"Does it?"  
"You're my _brother_!"  
"And I find you beautiful."  
She stared at him, too stunned to pull away when he took her  
hand.  
"Beautiful," he repeated, lifting it to his mouth. He kissed the  
back of it, then turned it over and kissed the tender palm.  
"Jericho, stop!" She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it  
firmly.  
He nuzzled along her wrist, licked the sensitive flesh. Angela's  
mind reeled in sudden horrible arousal and confusion. Even through that,  
she saw his nostrils flare, knew he was breathing her scent. The scent of a  
breeding female, designed to intoxicate a male.  
She tugged her arm away and backed up. "Don't touch me," she  
said weakly.  
"We're only rookery siblings," he said, advancing one step for  
each one she took backwards.  
"We're not on Avalon anymore!"  
"It still doesn't matter. Not to me. You know how I feel about  
ties of blood."  
"Have you no loyalty to Demona?" she threw at him, wincing  
  
even as she did so -- what a terrible, ugly way to make her point. "Aren't  
you her ... mate?"  
"You do favor her, you know. Especially in this light, that helps  
to hide your coloring. I can see her in your features."  
"I have a mate too," she said. "We started our breeding season a  
month ago. Brooklyn and I are trying to have hatchlings of our own."  
"You'd do better with me." He moved quickly, caught her and  
pinned her arms against her sides.   
For the first time, she realized that he was nearly as strong as  
Goliath, for the first time she saw what a powerful male he was. And  
while that thought frightened her, it also spoke on a primal level to her  
instincts. Thousands of years of evolution programmed part of her to  
respond, even while her mind recoiled in sheer horror.  
"No ..." she moaned, struggling in his grip as he unerringly  
found the inner curve of her wingjoint with one hand, and cupped a breast  
with the other. Her knees threatened to buckle, her bones threatened to  
melt. Her own heightened senses became her enemy, for they didn't  
know, didn't care who brought them to such an excited state.  
"I could give you more eggs than that scrawny gargoyle ever  
could."  
Something snapped in her. What building passion she'd  
unwillingly felt was dashed to steam and ashes at his words, and she raked  
her foot talons viciously down his shin.  
Jericho sprang back with a surprised, pained cry.  
"That's the second time someone's called him that, and it's twice  
too often for me!" She emphasized it by whipping her tail against Jericho's  
other leg. "I thought Goliath was mistaken to forbid me to see you again,  
but he was right! You're evil, Jericho, and even I can't see any point in  
trying to redeem you."  
Drawing himself to his full height despite the stinging pain he  
must have felt in both legs -- and a quick glance showed her three parallel  
claw marks oozing blood -- he looked ready to leap at her. She stood her  
ground furiously.  
"I should tell her what you tried to do tonight," she continued.  
"What would she think of you then?"  
"She'd blame you," Jericho said confidently. "She'd think you  
were still trying to win me away from her, by ... how would _you_ put it?  
... by 'stooping to her level.' That's what she would think, Angela. I'd  
make sure of it."  
She shook her head slowly while never taking her eyes off him.  
"I cared for you once, Jericho. But that gargoyle, that brother of mine, is  
dead." She kept retreating, until she felt the updrafts at her back and knew  
she'd reached the edge of the roof. "Stay away from me, and my clan."  
"I'll do what I please, _sister_," he sneered. "As always."  
She turned from him and sprang into the night, willing her wings  
to carry her as far and as fast as they could, willing the wind to scour her  
clean of the vile lingering sensations of her brother's caress.  
  
* *  
  
Summer was coming to an end. It would still get hot later in the  
day, Elisa knew, hot enough to bump the usual tempers and arguments of  
the citizens of Manhattan up a few notches, but the hints were there in the  
brisk chill of the pre-dawn air, and the dusks that came steadily earlier.  
Six weeks since the breeding season began. Which meant Elektra,  
the first of the gargoyles to conceive, was already thickening around the  
waist. Aiden would begin to show soon, too. Six months, give or take,  
until there were eggs in the rookery.  
The sun sank beneath the curve of the earth, and the clan awoke  
with their customary roars and stretches. Even Aiden, after several weeks  
of practice, was finally working up a respectable little roar, though she  
still reminded Elisa of a kitten snarling and spitting at a bigger tomcat.  
Just like her nephew and niece, she thought with a grin. Little  
Tom Maza had thrown a genuine tantrum over bedtime rights the other  
night, and even gone so far as to hit his father, Talon, with a junior zap of  
lightning. Which, while it did demand immediate parental intervention and  
discipline, settled once and for all the question of whether the mutates'  
electric abilities had been passed on.  
Goliath stepped down from his perch and started toward her, then  
stopped as he saw the smile on her face. The smile she no longer kept  
concealed in case it should turn out to be a false alarm.  
"Elisa ...?"  
"Congratulations, big guy," she said. "We're going to have a  
baby."  
The rest of the clan erupted in cheers. Goliath came to her  
slowly, wonderingly. "Am I still sleeping, still dreaming?"  
"Nope. The results came back today. Six weeks pregnant." She  
winked over at Broadway and Elektra. "Which edges you two out by about  
a week."  
"Well, hey, I guess now we owe you a pizza," Broadway  
beamed.  
"Six weeks? Since the ..." Goliath broke off, cleared his throat as  
he realized the others were still crowded gleefully around. He raised his  
eyes significantly toward the small tower.  
"Since then," Elisa confirmed.  
"But why did you keep it so long a secret?" Elektra asked.  
"I wanted to be sure. And I wasn't too eager to let the doctors  
start poking and prodding and drawing blood. But when I missed my  
second visit from the cardinal, I thought I'd better get a professional  
opinion."  
"Visit from the --?" Hudson started.  
"It's a human thing," Aiden hastily cut in.  
"Well, I'm glad to be hearing it anyway," Hudson said, giving  
Elisa a grandfatherly peck on the cheek.  
"That goes for all of us," Brooklyn said. He finally pretended to  
pick up on the looks Goliath was sending his way. "Hey, who's ready for  
dinner? I'm starved!"  
"Do we have any raw calf's liver?" Angela asked. "That sounds  
really good!"  
Everyone turned to her, and her mouth opened in surprise as she  
realized what she'd said, what it might mean.  
"Oh, hey ..." Brooklyn stammered.  
Angela grabbed his hand. "Dinner can wait! Let's go see the  
doctor!"  
The rest quickly took the hint and scattered, leaving Goliath and  
Elisa alone on the roof.  
"My Elisa ..." he couldn't find any other words, didn't need any  
more.  
She went to him, and he took her in his arms as the first  
twinkling stars came out in the faded denim of the evening sky.  
  
* *  
  
"Yes, Mom ... no, Mom, it's okay ..." Aiden covered the phone  
with her hand and rolled her eyes at Lex. "She's crying again."  
"Happy crying, right?"  
"I think so. She keeps saying 'my baby, my little girl, all grown  
up.' Oh, wait --" She held it to her ear again. "Daddy? Yeah, I just told  
Mom the big news. What? That you're going to be grandparents! Well,  
not right away, I mean, there'll be an egg next spring, but don't go out  
and buy baby stuff yet, okay? It's still a long wait."  
She sat down beside Lex and snuggled under his arm while she  
got to tell the news all over again to Aunt Mary. After getting a headful of  
advice: "I do, Aunt Mary, I get plenty of exercise ... frozen fish sticks ...  
still frozen, why?" Aiden eventually escaped the conversation with a  
heartfelt, "Whew!"  
"I'm glad they're not upset," Lex said.  
"Me, too."  
"Hey, Aiden ... this is getting way ahead of ourselves, but you  
remember how we were talking about names? Well, if we _do_ have  
twins, like we saw in the future, I don't think we should name them Luke  
and Leia."  
"Me either. We should come up with something else. I was  
thinking ... you know how we both love the X-Files ..."  
"Yeah, I was thinking that too. But I don't know if it's such a  
good idea."  
"Why not?"  
"Well, for starters, we don't even know if the show's still going  
to be around in ten years. It might be a fad."  
"Lexington!" She gaped at him. "I can't believe you, you of all  
people --"  
"Hey, I'm just saying it could happen!"  
"Okay, okay, I'll accept that it _could_ happen ... it happened to  
other good shows, so I guess it's possible. But what's your point?"  
"I think if we do have twins, we should name them after your  
folks. Kenneth and Finella."  
"Oh. Oh! Lex, that's _perfect_! They'll be so proud!" She seized  
him in their favorite hug, the one that linked her fingers behind his neck  
while letting his arms go around her, so that their wings overlapped, and  
pressed their brow ridges together.  
"Why shouldn't they be?" he said. "I already am."  
  
* *  
  
"Here ye go, boy," Hudson said, setting down the huge  
galvanized steel bowl of meat scraps. Bronx tore into it with a right good  
will, tail stub flapping.  
"Maybe that'll keep ye from jumping all over me while my  
video's on."  
He didn't watch nearly as much television as he used to, but this  
time he was determined to see the entire film and find out just what all the  
fuss was about. He patted Bronx, then headed back toward his private TV  
room. Normally, he'd watch it in the suite the rest of the clan used, but he  
could do without the rest of the smartmouthed youngsters who had already  
seen it spoiling the best bits for him.  
He settled himself down comfortably in his old, seat-sprung  
rocker and hit the remote. On the screen, a pretty woman in a fancy, big-  
skirted dress said disdainfully, "You, suh, are no gentleman!"  
"Forgot to rewind last time I tried to watch it," he muttered to  
himself, and punched the remote again. The image vanished, replaced by  
an ad for fat-free salad dressing as the tape rewound. A third tap on the  
remote muted the sound of ecstatic singing vegetables -- and why they  
should be so merry, Hudson wondered, when they were about to be  
drenched in ranch flavor and then devoured, was beyond him.  
In the momentary lull of quiet, he could hear even through the  
thick layers of stone Brooklyn's telltale howl, echoed by Angela's operatic  
reply.  
He chuckled. The optimism of the breeding pairs. As long as the  
season continued, they might as well do all they could. Give them a better  
chance at more eggs, even though there was at least one already growing  
in Angela's belly.  
The VCR clicked to a stop.  
"All right, then," Hudson said. "This time, no interruptions."  
Someone rapped on the door.  
"Och, what now?" He raised his voice. "Aye, what is it?"  
The door opened and Delilah peeked in. "Hudson?"  
"Lass! What are ye doing here? Come to give us some good  
news, have ye?"  
She shook her head. "I am sorry to be bothering you, but I have  
questions. I am needing help with breeding."  
He nodded sagely. "Aye, I should've expected that, having ye go  
back to the Labyrinth instead of staying here. Maggie didna give you any  
advice, then?" He patted the ottoman. "I'll tell ye what ye need to know."  
She came in, and he smiled approvingly at the pale green gown  
flowing from her shoulders. "Ye look lovely enough to tempt any male.  
Now then, ye do know how hatchlings are made, don't ye?"  
"Yes, I know." She laughed softly, like rain on the water. "I am  
thinking you are mistaking me. Samson and I, we have often been lovers.  
It is not advice on breeding that I need. It is help."  
"I'm not understanding ye, lass."  
She ignored the ottoman and knelt at his feet. "Samson and I are  
not being genetically compatible. The doctor says we cannot make a  
hatchling. To do that, I am needing a gargoyle." She laid her hand on his  
knee and looked up at him appealingly.  
Hudson's breath lodged firmly in his throat, and he had to cough  
heartily before he could speak. "Delilah, lass, what are ye saying?"  
"You are a wise, brave, strong, handsome warrior," she said.  
"And you are not having a mate."  
He coughed again, because his mouth had gone dry as a sand  
dune. "I'm far too old for the likes of ye, Delilah. Ye must know some  
other gargoyle --"  
"Only the clones," she said. "And they are gone, and I would not  
be choosing one of them even if they were not. You are always being kind  
to me, Hudson. Won't you help me?"  
"Ye already have a mate, lass. What about Samson? What would  
he think?"  
"He is knowing where I am, what I am asking." Her gaze was  
steady, serious. "He is wanting to be father to my hatchling for the raising  
of it, but he cannot be the father for the breeding of it. I will keep it secret  
that you are being the father, if you wish. No one else is having to know."  
"Now, wait a moment ..." Just moments ago, he'd told her she  
was lovely enough to tempt any male, and by the dragon, it was true.  
What she was saying, combined with the heady scent of breeding that  
filled the castle, woke up long-slumbering feelings.  
He had lost his first love, Joy, a long time ago. While there had  
been occasional trysts with others of his rookery sisters in later years, he'd  
never taken a mate. His relationship with Maria Chavez was one of  
undemanding comfort and companionship, neither of them particularly  
desirous of moving it beyond the infrequent kiss. Now he had this  
incredible offer before him, was so tempted it made his wingjoints ache,  
and he didn't know if it was the right thing to do. Indecision batted him  
back and forth.  
Delilah saw, and cut right through all his mental dithering with  
one simple action. She stood, unfastened her gown, and let it fall away.  
She extended her arms. "Breed me," she pleaded.  
Hudson felt like he'd been socked in the chest with a Quarryman  
hammer, and for a split second wondered if this was going to be how he  
left the world. He could have had worse final sights before his eyes, that  
was true!  
"Delilah, lass, any male would be a fool to refuse such an  
invitation," he said huskily, and threw the remote across the room.  
  
* *  
  
"Well, thank God for birth control," Birdie Yale said pertly,  
looking around the dinner table. "Am I the only one here not preggers?"  
"You and me, Birdie," Fox said. "But at least the season's over  
now! I can bring Alex home, no more late-night caterwauling --" Angela  
had the good graces to blush at that, "-- and things around here can get  
back to normal."  
"As normal as they ever were," T.J. amended dryly. "Which  
isn't very."  
"I'm glad Delilah decided to keep her eggs here, when the time  
comes," Angela said. "The rookery looks so empty."  
"I can't believe she and Samson managed without magic,"  
Brooklyn remarked. He glanced at Aiden, who was nibbling on a frozen  
fish stick with as much decorum as possible, given the weird crunchy  
sound it made. "Wonder if they had magical help?"  
"I didn't," Aiden said.  
"I don't imagine it's any of yer business, either," Hudson scolded  
the red male. "No one's asking ye how ye and Angela managed."  
"Hey, I was just curious! No need to bite my head off!"  
"It seems some other congratulations are in order," Xanatos said  
as Owen came in. "Isn't that right, Owen?"  
All eyes, human and gargoyle, turned toward the blond man.  
"I don't know to what you might be referring, Mr. Xanatos."  
"The Grandmaster happened to mention something interesting last  
night at our meeting," Xanatos said, clearly enjoying himself. "About his  
niece."  
"Miss St. John?" Aiden looked worriedly at Lex. "Sebastian."  
  
* *  
  
Dominique Destine uttered a short, polite laugh. "I'm sorry,  
doctor. For a second there, I thought you said 'pregnant.'"  
"That _is_ what I said, Ms. Destine," Pamela Kohlberg said, her  
expression changing from one of smug bearer-of-good-tidings to that of  
one who might've committed a social blunder and wasn't sure of the best  
way to get out of it. "Of course, I'd have to run some tests, but it would  
explain all of your symptoms."  
"What symptoms?" Dominique demanded sharply.  
Dr. Kohlberg consulted her notes, apparently glad of having some  
excuse to look elsewhere. "You mentioned nausea, tenderness in the  
breasts, a change in eating habits, and you told the nurse you hadn't had a  
period in the past couple of months."  
Dominique nodded, thinking to herself that she certainly hadn't  
attached any importance to that last bit -- the less she had to deal with that  
monthly messy human indignity, the happier she was. "I just have a touch  
of the flu, don't I? Pregnant -- doctor, that is simply impossible."  
The awkward expression was back. "Um ... Ms. Destine, are you  
currently sexually active? With a ... with a man?"  
Now Dominique sighed, this being not the first time someone had  
made the assumption that a powerful, confident businesswoman who had  
no publicly-known affairs had to be a discreet lesbian -- this assumption  
usually generated by the wounded egos of men who'd asked and been shot  
down.  
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," she said. Trying to explain the  
precise details would be far more than the doctor needed to know, and  
would likely put Kohlberg in a situation where she'd be unable to resist the  
temptation of violating the doctor-patient confidentiality. "But I certainly  
never decided to breed."  
Dr. Kohlberg regained her composure enough to chuckle. "If  
only it were that easy! Ms. Destine, no birth control method except  
abstinence is foolproof. Your records show that you're not on the Pill and  
you haven't been fitted with an IUD, which leaves the barrier or  
spermicidal methods. And those do have a higher failure rate."  
"Doctor, you're not hearing me. I cannot be pregnant. It simply  
isn't possible." But even as she said it, she turned it over in her mind,  
wondering.  
Wasn't it? She was, after all, human half the time now, and  
humans had no conscious control over their fertility (which could explain,  
she thought bitterly, why there were so damned many of them). If she  
suffered the other inconveniences of a human cycle, even if it was thrown  
off-kilter by the fact that she resumed her true form every dusk, wasn't it  
within the realms of possibility ...?  
"I'd like to run those tests, just to be sure," the doctor was  
saying.  
"Yes, all right," Dominique agreed absently.  
If it _was_ true, that meant ... that meant Jericho was the father!  
Her brief predatory affairs with humans had ended once she'd brought him  
back from Avalon. The thought that she could have risked getting pregnant  
by a human sent a splash of cold horror over her; bad enough that she had  
enjoyed her dalliances with them, but to have had a child?  
She put that right out of her mind. It hadn't happened, and she  
would not upset herself by whipping up a case of retroactive fright.  
Instead, she clung to the chance, the startlingly appealing hope, that the  
doctor was right.  
She pressed a palm to her flat stomach, trying to sense if there  
was new life growing within. A new member of her clan, one who would  
be as singularly devoted to her as Jericho was. A daughter, perhaps, to  
replace Angela.  
A torrent of sudden questions and worries flew through her mind,  
mostly centering around how she would be able to keep the child's nature  
a secret. But she shoved them all aside, concentrating on the thought of a  
hatchling, a tiny blue-skinned, scarlet-haired bundle of joy. And how  
happy Jericho would be when she told him.  
  
* *  
  
Several blocks away, another pregnant woman also sat on an  
examining table in a paper gown.  
"So far, everything looks good," Kurt Masters told Elisa. "The  
baby's demands for certain minerals are higher than normal, so I'd like  
you to start taking iron, calcium, a boron-selenium tablet, and this multi-  
vitamin. You should also be eating plenty of leafy greens and red meat."  
"Finally, a doctor who says red meat is okay," Elisa said,  
smiling.  
"In your case, it's necessary. Gargoyles have a diet high in  
protein. Try to stay away from excess sugars and fats, though."  
He rolled a tall skinny machine over to the table and motioned for  
her to lie back.  
"Okay, what's that one?"  
"Going to listen for a heartbeat." He unhooked something that  
looked disturbingly like a kids' play microphone, all blue and white  
plastic, and gooped up the end of it with some clear jelly from a tube.  
"Here's where we find out if your baby is turning to stone during the  
day."  
She obligingly reclined and opened the gown. There was just a  
hint of a swelling, so far only noticeable to herself and Goliath, though  
she'd had to go up a size in her jeans. "Wouldn't I notice? It would get  
heavier, wouldn't it?"  
"At this point, you might not be able to feel it. That's why we  
want to check, though. That's the biggest possible complication we're  
looking at. Your womb might have trouble supporting a full-term stone  
infant. We might have to consider a premature Caesarean." He must have  
seen her alarmed look, because he shook his head. "But I don't want you  
to worry about that. If it does become necessary, you'll have the best  
treatment medical science can provide."  
"All thanks to Xanatos. It wouldn't have been too long ago,"  
Elisa muttered, "that I'd have been wondering just what his angle was,  
what he hoped to gain."  
Kurt Masters shrugged. "Just between you and me, some people  
only know how to say they're sorry with their checkbooks. Maybe he  
considers it a way to try and make up for all the hassles he's caused you.  
Okay, here we go." He put the cold, slimy head of the microphone on her  
stomach and began moving it around.  
Elisa made a face. "Feels like a slug crawling on me."  
_fwoosh-fwoosh-fwoosh-fwoosh_ -- a watery rushing throb.  
"Ah, there we are! Hear it?"  
"That's my baby's heart?" Her throat tightened and happy tears  
stung her eyes. "If we can hear it, that means it's not stone, right?"  
"Right. It stands to reason that in a hybrid case like this, the  
mother's race would dictate the prenatal development of the fetus. I think  
you'll be able to carry it to term."  
"Will it be a baby, or an egg?"  
"Too soon to tell. In another few weeks, we'll be able to do an  
ultrasound and see if there's any shell formation happening. That'll also let  
us figure out if you'll be waiting the whole nine months, or doing it in six  
like the gargoyles."  
* *  
  
"Were the females like this last time and I just didn't notice?"  
Brooklyn asked desperately.  
"What, you mean with the mood swings and everything?"  
Broadway replied.  
"Tell me about it!" Lex exclaimed. "I forgot to bring Aiden the  
new book she wanted, and it was like I'd killed her best friend! I told her  
I'd get it tonight, but she started crying that it was too late, that it didn't  
matter now."  
"Angela asked me if I thought she looked fat --" Brooklyn began,  
and his brothers groaned in sympathy. "What was I going to say? She's  
_supposed_ to look fat! She's got an egg in there! I tried to tell her she  
looked beautiful, because she does, she really does, but she threw one of  
Bronx's chew-toys at me and told me I was just saying that."  
"Elektra's still throwing up a lot," Broadway reported worriedly.  
"No matter what I fix for her, she can't keep anything down. The doctor  
even wants to start her on those canned nutrition drinks, because he  
doesn't think she's gaining enough weight."  
"Jeez, could we get him to tell Angela that? She made me perch  
on the other side of the wall yesterday!"  
"The gargoyle equivalent of sleeping on the couch, I guess," Lex  
said. "I'm surprised Aiden didn't make me join you."  
"She will if you don't get her that book," Broadway said.  
"But she said she didn't want it anymore!"  
Brooklyn thwapped him on the brow. "And you believed her? If I  
were you, I'd bring her _two_ books and a box of candy. Or fish sticks."  
"She's off those now," Lex said. "Now it's turnips. Can you  
believe it? Turnips! I thought we'd never have to see another turnip after  
we woke up in Manhattan."  
"Still, Brooklyn's right," Broadway said. "You'd better get the  
book."  
Hudson came around the corner, and his barely-hid grin informed  
them that he'd heard every word. "For what it's worth, lads, this whole  
business is nothing new. My rookery sisters, yer mothers, were just as  
bad. I remember once the lot of them teamed up and had half the males  
out combing the countryside for berries, and this was in the first snow of  
winter!"  
"Did they find any?" Lex asked.  
Hudson shook his head. "Some dared not even come back to the  
castle for most of a week."  
"I know the feeling," Brooklyn grumbled. "No matter what I do,  
it's the wrong thing."  
"But it'll pass," Hudson assured them. "Soon they'll be plump  
and merry, and start their nesting. They'll be down in the rookery shoving  
straw around, getting it all set. Ye'll see. When that time comes, they're  
all but glowing. Make ye forget all the hardships they've put ye through."  
  
* *  
  
In the top room of the smallest tower, Goliath held Elisa close as  
they watched the rain and sleet run in rivulets down the leaded glass. The  
fire was warm against their backs, and his hand rested possessively on the  
swell of her stomach.  
"There!" she said. "Did you feel it?"  
He pulled his hand away, startled, then put it back with an  
amazed smile. "I did! It moved!"  
"It kicked," she corrected.  
"Does that happen often?"  
"Ooh! There it goes again! I think someone's recognizing  
Daddy's voice. I get kicked a lot at night, but hardly ever during the day.  
The doc thinks it's because the baby's more lethargic, sleeping, when the  
sun's up. Like me. It's all I can do to stay awake once dawn comes."  
"Where is the picture? I want to see it again."  
She unfolded the printout of the ultrasound. Goliath's head tipped  
next to hers as they regarded the tiny curled form. There was no shell, not  
even the beginnings of one, which led the doctor to believe that their child  
would be born without an egg.  
It was hard to make out details, but they could clearly see one  
well-defined foot with three small grasping toes and a raised arch.  
Spidery-fine wing struts were wrapped around the small body.  
"I'm kind of glad the doc couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl,"  
Elisa said. "And that we won't have to wait ten years for an egg to hatch."  
"Even waiting these next four months seems a long time,"  
Goliath said. "The doctor is sure it'll be that long?"  
"The time will go fast. The holidays are coming up, and then --"  
she broke off and sighed in mock despair. "The holidays! Aunt Agnes is  
coming to visit!"  
"I should think she'd be happy," Goliath growled. "This is what  
she wanted, after all."  
"I guess so. Anyway, the holidays, and then the others will lay  
their eggs, and it'll be time to wheel me into the delivery room before you  
know it."  
"You sound more hopeful than I think you are," he observed.  
"Well, yeah. You're right, it _is_ a long time to wait. Especially  
now that everyone at the station knows."  
He glowered. "And do they still think Rick Alvarez is the father  
of your child?"  
She covered her eyes. "Oh, God."  
"I'll take that as a yes."  
"Matt says that the rumor is I started wearing a wedding ring to  
scare off the guys, so I could carry on my affair with Rick."  
"Who is spreading these rumors?" he asked darkly.  
"Now, stop. We've had this talk before, remember? You can't  
flatten everyone who says something bad about me."  
"I can try. They should not be talking about you like that."  
"Hey, workplace gossip is one of those extra bonuses. The only  
way to stop it is to tell them the truth, and that would only give them more  
to gossip about."  
"Won't it be something of a tip-off when you bear a winged  
child?"  
She smiled ruefully. "Sure, but I don't have to worry about that  
until April, and by then, I'll have come up with a story. I hope."  
"And Rick? He allows this talk?"  
"I deny it, he denies it, and nobody believes a word of it. And  
this, mind you, is coming from a station full of cops, who are supposed to  
know the difference between truth and a lie." She patted his cheek,  
smiling. "What, you don't like him taking credit for all your hard work?"  
"I don't like anyone even pretending to take liberties with my  
mate."  
Elisa laughed softly and rested her head against his arm. "You're  
so cute when you're possessive."  
"I'm concerned about you."  
"Look at it this way. As long as everyone thinks it's Rick, the  
Quarrymen aren't going to get wind of a human woman pregnant by a  
gargoyle. You know they'd go ballistic if they found out."  
"I know. And that worries me, too. They've been too quiet of  
late."  
"That's because Xanatos and T.J. got into their communications  
network and told the cops whenever they tried to set up a meeting.  
They're in hiding."  
"I doubt they'll stay there. People like that never do. Fanatics do  
not just go away. I can't help but fear that they're planning something,  
lying low and planning something."  
  
* *  
  
"The end is coming!"  
"Look at the funny man, Mama," Alexander Xanatos said as the  
limo rolled down Fifth Avenue under the strings and garlands of  
Christmas decorations.  
Fox nudged her husband just as he was settling into a satisfying  
doze. "There's another one, David. One of those New Year's nutcases."  
David Xanatos peeled one eye open. His nerves, if not his bank  
account, had taken quite a beating, thanks to store clerks that instantly  
recognized the darling and precocious heir to the Xanatos millions, and  
swarmed Alex with every new toy they could get their hands on.  
"Millooniums, isn't that what Elisa calls them?"  
Rather than predicting Armageddon by asteroid, last year's pet  
apocalypse, these wild-eyed prophets and doomsayers were convinced that  
civilization was going to go belly-up on New Year's, when the world's  
computers failed to handle the rollover to the year 2000. A wave of  
catastrophe would roll across the globe, timezone by timezone, devouring  
all in its path.  
"There sure are a lot of them," Fox remarked. "I think they'd  
have the Salvation Army Santas outnumbered if it came to a fight."  
"But those red kettles on chains would make better weapons than  
those big placards," Xanatos said. "If they had room to get up a good  
swing."  
Alex sat upright as a thought struck him, and he turned to his  
parents with awe. "Is Santa one of Oberon's Children?"  
"Look at that one!" Fox pointed to a sign advising the reader to  
kill a computer today, complete with illustration of a sledgehammer  
slamming down onto a monitor. "And they're actually going up to him  
reaching for his tracts, instead of trying to avoid him!"  
Xanatos ruffled his son's hair. "Maybe, son, maybe." To his  
wife, he said, "It makes a certain amount of sense. The wrath-of-God  
message doesn't reach everyone, because a lot of people don't believe. But  
computers -- hell, everyone believes in computers, but deep down, very  
few people trust them."  
"That sign ..." she said, turning in her seat as they drove past.  
"You know, David, I'd swear that's an old Quarryman sign, with a  
computer pasted over the picture of Goliath."  
  
* *  
  
"Ms. Destine? Are you all right?" Stephanie Greene said.  
"Does it sound like I'm all right?" Dominique shot back. She hit  
the flush, swirling away this morning's breakfast, and got unsteadily to  
her feet.  
"Shall I get your anti-nausea pills?"  
"Don't bother." She winced as she levered herself up from her  
knees, and waited for a cramp to pass before she opened the stall door.  
"They don't work."  
"Maybe we should reschedule the meeting," Stephanie fretted.  
"Until you're feeling better."  
"And how long do you think that will take?" She maneuvered her  
swollen self over to the sink, stared at her reflection.  
Only four months pregnant, she looked six or seven. Puffy,  
bloated. All the makeup in the world couldn't hide the sallowness of her  
skin, or the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair had lost much of its  
former lustre despite its impeccable styling. She hadn't been sleeping well,  
and it showed. Her dawn and dusk transformations had become a greater  
ordeal than ever.  
At least by night, she felt better. Looked better. She regained her  
energy and appetite with the setting of the sun, and having Jericho to rub  
her aching lower back and tender feet made a big difference. His absolute  
joy at the prospect of an egg of their own was undeniable, something she  
could easily share with him at night even if she regarded it as more of a  
burden to bear by daylight.  
"No," she said to Stephanie, who hovered over her like a nervous  
hen. "This meeting is too important. We have to present our bid today.  
Besides --" she showed her teeth in a cruel grin, "-- I can't wait to see the  
look on Xanatos' face when I walk into that room. If anything's going to  
put him off his stride, it's this." She gestured down at herself, in smart,  
fashionable maternity wear.  
Stephanie blinked. "Xanatos ... you can't mean that _he's_ --"  
"No, of course not!" she snapped.  
"Sorry," Stephanie said meekly, swiftly busying herself making  
sure the handouts for the presentation were in order.  
Dominique splashed cool water on her face, wanting nothing  
more than to go home, put on a comfortable robe, and rest on the couch.  
If today went well, she promised herself a few weeks off, or however long  
it took until she was over this.  
She tried a touch more lipstick, but the red she normally favored  
looked clown-garish against her pallid complexion. She wiped it off with  
weary anger. "I look like absolute hell."  
Stephanie said nothing, but the pity in her eyes was nearly more  
than Dominique could stand. It did, though, give her a surge of irritation  
that proved enough to get her moving. She patted her hair into place and  
picked up her slim leather briefcase.  
She waited to enter the stark-yet-sumptuous room where the  
meeting was to be held, letting Halcyon Renard precede her in his  
motorized chair, then made her way in. Xanatos was engaged in a friendly  
debate with the TarrenTech and New Wave Microtechnologies  
representatives over whether a private jet was preferable to flying the  
Concord.  
Everyone looked casually up to appraise the new arrivals.  
Xanatos favored his father-in-law with a warm smile, which Renard did  
not return, and then his gaze fell upon Dominique.  
His customary smug grin was slapped off his face, and the  
shocked gape that replaced it did Dominique more good than all the  
medicine in the world. She affected unconcern as she watched Xanatos  
grapple with his composure as if it were a lost bar of soap in the bath.  
So, he did know. Knew, and couldn't handle it. Even his flexible  
morals didn't allow for casual acceptance of someone pregnant by her own  
son.  
Owen Burnett caught the expression on his master's face and  
turned her way. His pale blond brows went up in surprise, but then he did  
something thoroughly infuriating -- he caught Xanatos' eye, and the two of  
them nodded as if they understood something she didn't.  
She wanted to storm over and demand to know what they meant  
by that knowing look, but dizziness spun through her and she plunked  
gracelessly into the nearest chair. Clammy sweat dampened her forehead.  
She clutched the armrests, suddenly sure that the nausea was going to  
come back, even though there couldn't possibly be anything left to throw  
up.  
"Water," she whispered to Stephanie, who rushed to the linen-  
draped side table where ice-choked pitchers and glasses awaited.  
The rep from TarrenTech, a man that Dominique had dealt with  
before but whose name she could not recall, grinned cheerfully at her.  
"My wife's just had our third, a nine-pound baby girl."  
"How nice," she said.  
She was saved from further meddling questions by the arrival of  
the government people, four men and two women all cut from the same  
cloth. Agents from a newly-formed internal-defense outfit. Dominique  
didn't particularly care about their politics, and she knew none of her  
competitors did either. What mattered was that the agency was the flavor  
of the month as far as Washington was concerned, with unlimited funding.  
Perfunctory greetings were exchanged all around, and then it was  
down to business. The government people kicked things off with a slick  
promotional video about what their agency was about and what it hoped to  
accomplish. After that, it was up to the presenters.  
Dominique sat back and listened, knowing that it was already  
down to her vs. Xanatos. The government thought Renard was too old, his  
ideas obsolete, and weren't about to enter into a long-term contract with  
someone who might very well die and hand over the company to someone  
with different ideas. The other two companies weren't focused in this  
direction of military tech, and would take years to get up to speed.  
As the meeting went on, she began to wonder if she was going to  
make it long enough to get her chance. A low, hot ball of pressure seemed  
to have formed in her stomach. Her mouth was dry, tacky with a taste like  
old envelope glue. A muffled ringing roaring in her ears made everything  
sound as if it was coming through a cheap radio, the frequency fading in  
and out. When she reached for her pen to make a note about something the  
New Wave rep said, her hand shook.  
"Now we'll hear from Nightstone Unlimited," one of the  
government men said.  
Stephanie leaned over. "I can do the presentation."  
Dominique shook her head. "I'll do it." She made her way to the  
front of the darkened room, casting a pudgy shadow on the screen that  
now displayed a slide of the Nightstone logo. Heartburn bubbled in her  
chest, a cramp lanced across her back. Her feet felt like they were  
swelling even more, that they would burst right out of her shoes.  
No one asked if she was feeling all right. She would have been  
surprised if anyone did. But she could tell they'd all noticed. That  
infuriated her, even though there was no way she could hide it.  
"At Nightstone," she began, picking up the remote clicker that  
would let her change the slides, "we ... we are dedicated to ..." damn it,  
she couldn't remember the rest of her mission statement!  
At the back of the room, Stephanie was watching in agony, and  
Dominique was now really regretting not letting her do it. But she was up  
here, and she would have to muddle through.  
Get with it! she scolded herself. You've been through worse  
hardships than this!  
That steadied her, and her prepared speech clicked into her mind  
in perfect order. She heard herself begin to talk again, amazed at how  
steady she sounded. She could see the government people nodding and  
tipping their heads together to comment on the bold, innovative projects  
she was outlining.  
"With the 9000 Series," she went on, "you'll have the latest in --"  
An iron fist clamped inside her, crushing the breath from her  
lungs so that her sudden cry was more of a gasping squeal. She reeled  
back into the screen, making the image billow and contort. Needles and  
coals, a terrible heaviness and wrenching. Her legs buckled and she  
clawed at the screen as she fell, ripping it aslant.  
The lights came up and the others all jumped to their feet.  
Stephanie ran to Dominique, helping her sit up. No sooner did she do so  
than another searing twisting pain shot through her, and she toppled onto  
her side, keening like an animal with its foot caught in a trap.  
"Somebody get a doctor!" Stephanie shouted.  
"I'm fi--" Dominique started, but couldn't finish. She felt wetness  
and her first panicky thought was that she'd lost control of her bladder,  
but then she detected not the acrid bitter scent of urine but a richer,  
thicker scent. Blood.  
There came a deep awful tearing unraveling sensation, and she  
understood that the fragile web of life inside her was popping free, one  
strand at a time.  
Babbling and pandemonium all around. In the midst of it, she  
knew what she had to do, and somehow found the strength to lurch to her  
feet. One single ruby bead had slipped down her leg and half the people in  
the room were staring at it and its scarlet trail as if hypnotized. Staggering  
like a wounded soldier, she seized her bag from beside her chair, then  
burst out of the room and down the hallway.  
"Ms. Destine!" Stephanie chased after her.  
"Leave me alone!" she shrieked, and the effort of the shriek or  
the running caused a new cramp that laced up to her ribs like a corset.  
She misjudged the corner leading into the bathroom, rebounded  
off the wall with a body-wide howl of pain, and swept the door shut.  
There was a thumb-bolt and she turned it, a tiny rubber wedge and she  
kicked it into place.  
She collapsed onto the pale mauve couch with a ragged gasp.  
"No, no, no," she heard herself chanting, as if that alone would  
be enough to change things. She upended her purse and pawed through the  
items, panting. The cushion beneath her was growing sodden and sticky.  
Pounding on the door, and Stephanie's voice calling for her to  
open it, calling for someone to bring a key.  
"There!" She desperately snatched up a plain red leather lipstick  
case that did not hold lipstick, and pulled out a small cylindrical wad of  
tissue. It shredded beneath her fingernails, and left her holding a lock of  
silken white hair caught up in a metal clamp. An iron clamp, to be  
precise.  
She closed her hand around the strands. She'd never thought she  
would have to use them like this, never thought she'd have to be begging a  
favor, but this was her child's _life_!  
She began the spell of summoning.  
  
* * 

"So much for Nightstone's chances," the New Wave rep said in a  
tone of mean satisfaction.  
The TarrenTech rep, the new father, whirled on her. "She's  
having a goddam miscarriage!"  
David Xanatos touched Owen's sleeve. "Call Dr. Masters."  
"Sir?"  
"Call him. I don't care if she's an enemy. I don't care who she  
sleeps with. Nobody should have to go through that."  
Owen nodded and pulled out his phone. He punched in the direct  
line to the med suite, then his whole body twitched. The phone jumped out  
of his hand.  
Xanatos caught it before it could strike the tabletop. "Owen?"  
He had gone more pale than usual, and his lips moved  
soundlessly as if answering some question that Xanatos couldn't hear.  
Then his eyes focused. "I'm afraid I have to leave rather quickly, sir. The  
lights, please."  
Xanatos opened his mouth, decided he could get answers later,  
and flicked off the lights. The room, already escalated by excitement and  
confusion, now boiled over into chaos. Which meant that nobody but  
Xanatos saw as Owen was yanked backward out of reality, his form  
changing, shrinking, as he vanished.  
  
* *  
  
*pop!*  
Puck tumbled, regained his balance, and flung his long white hair  
out of his eyes. He was hovering in the ladies' lounge, all tasteful decor in  
dove grey, mauve, and turquoise accents, but one of the couches and a lot  
of the carpet was drenched maroon, and a coiled comma-shape of a  
woman was huddled on the floor.  
Dominique looked up at him, her face conveying a tremendous  
diversity of emotion. Under the raw pain there was pleading, and anger,  
and resentment, and fear, and a glint of hope.  
"Save my baby!"  
Sorrow filled his eyes. "I cannot. It's too late."  
"It's dying! My baby is dying!"  
"Your transformations were too much for it. Your human  
body --"  
"Is your fault!" she said. "Your trick, your magic, that did this to  
me! If not for you, I'd be a gargoyle and my baby would be fine!"  
He nodded soberly.  
Someone banged on the door. "Ms. Destine! Somebody get a  
key!"  
Puck spun, fear of discovery making him sift through the  
loopholes in Oberon's decree. If he were found out, he wouldn't be able to  
protect the boy. Besides, the hair that Demona had stolen from him pre-  
dated the Gathering, so he could argue that he was bound by that  
commitment first.  
He made a sweeping circular gesture and a bubble of fey light  
surrounded himself and the woman.  
When the door skidded open moments later, the rubber wedge  
squeaking, they were both gone.  
  
* *  
  
Dominique screamed and scrabbled on the cold, dusty boards as  
the world crashed back in on her. The agony that had for a split second  
utterly disappeared now ground into her like broken glass.  
When it abated enough for her to sit up, she realized she knew  
this place. The window opposite her was the one through which she'd  
witnessed her first morning, the old cracked mirror was the one in which  
she'd discovered Puck's malicious humor. Her old house, the mansion  
she'd had to sell to try and hang onto her corporation.  
Puck floated in front of her, without a trace of that malicious  
humor now. "Demona, I'm sorry."  
"I don't want your apologies! I want my baby!"  
"It's too late. If I'd known sooner, there might have been  
something ..."  
"I won't accept that!" She lunged for him, but fell short when  
another belt of spike-studded pain cinched around her.  
Now, worst of all, a new sensation of something sliding, pushing,  
emerging. She clamped her thighs together, willing it not to be so, but she  
couldn't stop it. A river of blood washed her child onto the dirty floor.  
Its shell hadn't thickened yet, the translucent membrane like a  
thin-shaved curve of milky quartz, splotched with faint spots that would  
have eventually darkened to violet. Within, she could see the poor helpless  
thing, wizened and frail, a fetus mummified in stone.  
It would have been a boy.  
Already, the shell was turning black, seeping fluid. Dominique  
plunged her hands into the spoiling mess and lifted out the tiny figure. She  
could cradle it in one palm.  
It crumbled to a soft, gritty mush while she held it and wept,  
while Puck looked on with bright tears shining in his eyes.  
  
* *  
  
Stephanie stood in the lounge, staring at the bloodstain and the  
litter of items from Dominique's purse.  
"Hey, ma'am!" the custodian called. "Everything okay in there?"  
"Sure, fine just give us a minute," she called back, amazed at  
how normal she sounded.  
People gabbled in the hall, making her think of turkeys. Then she  
heard a woman's voice, one of the no-nonsense government people, and  
knew that the rest of them were waiting out there uncertainly because this  
was the _ladies'_ room and they didn't dare barge in, not in this age of  
sexual harassment.  
Stephanie sprang back to the door and locked it again, thankful  
that she held the key. "We'll be out soon!"  
"I have medical training!" the woman on the other side said.  
"That's okay, we've got everything under control." She caught  
sight of herself in the mirror, and what was meant to be a wide reassuring  
smile was a lunatic mask.  
Where _was_ she?  
Stephanie checked the stalls, but they were empty. There were no  
other ways out, unless Ms. Destine had gone out one of the air vents. That  
was impossible, because all the screws were firmly seated and there would  
have been ... there would have been ...  
... a trail of blood wide as a freeway, her mind insisted on  
finishing, and Stephanie ran back to the stall in which Ms. Destine had  
only a few hours ago offloaded her own breakfast, to do the same with  
hers.  
  
* *  
  
Puck made a circle of his forefinger and thumb, and looked  
through it to see the place they'd left. To his surprise, the door was still  
locked, and the room was empty.  
"I'll take you back now," he said, as gently as he could.  
A few years ago, what he'd just witnessed wouldn't have affected  
him; he might have tossed off some flippant remark about how she could  
have another one, as if she was a little girl who'd dropped her ice cream  
cone. But now, after seeing first Alexander and then Patricia come into  
the world, he had an inkling of what Demona might be feeling. It was all  
too easy to imagine Cordelia there instead.  
She didn't argue and didn't agree, just carried on with soft,  
wracking sobs as if her heart was crumbling away just as the baby had  
done.  
He clapped, and once again the light bubble surrounded them,  
depositing them in the lounge. From outside, human voices raised in  
concern and confusion. Soon they'd break down the door. He couldn't be  
here when it happened, but before he left ...  
"Do you want me to take back my spell? Make you as you were  
before, as you were born to be? A gargoyle, not just by night, but  
always?"  
"Oh, my God!" a very faint whisper replied.  
A human, Demona's assistant, came halfway out of one of the  
stalls and clung to the side, as if that cool painted-steel wall was the only  
thing keeping her upright.  
"No, just go," Dominique said. She tossed the strands of his hair  
at him. "I release you from the oath-binding."  
"But she --"  
"She can keep a secret." Dominique raised her head and looked  
evenly at the human. "Can't you, Stephanie?"  
Her mute, dazed nod was the best they could hope for under the  
circumstances, as the door leaped and shuddered in its frame.  
"I really am sorry," Puck said to Dominique, pausing to give her  
shoulder a compassionate squeeze.  
"Thank you." With that, she broke down again, burying her face  
in her hands.  
He hesitated a moment longer, then, as one of the hinges tore  
free and the door canted inward, Puck whirled like a top and took himself  
away.  
  
* *  
  
"This will help you rest," the paramedic said.  
Dominique did not resist as he injected something into her arm,  
although, having spent several years in the company of the Brothers  
Sevarius, she was much more wary than the average person about anybody  
coming at her with a syringe.  
Right now, though, she didn't care. Didn't care what poisons the  
humans might be shooting into her veins, didn't care what irregularities  
might show up on the blood tests they drew. All that mattered was the  
pain, the pain she was immersed in like a hot bath.  
Whatever the injection was, it worked quickly. By the time they'd  
gotten her loaded onto the gurney, the flourescents had taken on a hazy  
dreamlike quality, and the tense voices of the humans around her had  
faded to a meaningless drone. The crushing throb wrapped around her  
midsection dwindled to a lingering ache. Even the raw stab of her grief  
went sepia-toned like an old photograph, although she knew it would be  
back in Kodachrome the moment the drug wore off.  
They wheeled her into the hall, and she was dimly aware that she  
was covered to the neck in a pristine white sheet so that no one could  
gawk at the blood that soaked her legs.  
Stephanie trotted beside her, having somehow successfully shoved  
aside everything she'd witnessed and taken refuge in her brisk, efficient,  
executive-assistant demeanor. Dominique was absurdly touched at  
Stephanie's evident concern, and in her drug-fog, kept calling her  
'Angela.'  
Two faces swam out of the blur, faces she knew. David Xanatos,  
leaning in to ask if she wanted to be taken to the castle, and behind him,  
his dogsbody servant, Burnett. With bemused detachment, Dominique had  
the silly thought that the expression in Burnett's eyes exactly mirrored the  
last look she'd gotten from Puck.  
She mumbled something, not wanting to go to the castle, not  
wanting to be beholden to Xanatos or have the clan see her like this.  
Stephanie turned him down politely, and the next thing Dominique knew,  
the cold wet kiss of snowflakes landed on her cheeks as the gurney passed  
from the skyscraper's awning to the back of the waiting ambulance.  
The only part of that ride she recalled was a glimpse of a man on  
a streetcorner, waving a sign proclaiming the end of the world. Then they  
were at the hospital, more humans swarming around her, being lifted,  
moved, bright lights shining down at her, merciless metal poking in sore  
places, questions about the baby, Stephanie spinning some yarn about how  
she'd found Dominique in the bathroom stall where she'd dragged herself,  
where the fetus must have been flushed away into the sanitized blue.  
Through it all, Dominique drifted in fields of grey.  
She surfaced briefly in a hospital bed with an IV taped to the back  
of her wrist and a view of snow falling on Central Park. The television  
mounted on the wall was tuned to a talk show, the volume down low.  
People came and went. More doctors. Stephanie, still holding up  
remarkably well. A snoopy, intrusive brunette named Deanna who insisted  
on trying to counsel Dominique.  
The clock -- something about the clock was nagging at her mind.  
3:00, 3:15 ...  
Winter. Sunset by 5:00 at the latest.  
That brought her out of the fog. With the ruthlessness born of a  
thousand years' suffering, she pushed this fresh loss to the back of her  
mind and set about getting herself discharged over the doctors' objections.  
  
* *  
  
"Where's the gargoyle?" Jon Canmore said in a high, singsong  
voice. "Wheeerrre's the gargoyle? Oh! There it is!"  
He brought the small plastic monster out from behind him, and  
Bryce squealed and bashed it out of his father's hand with a toy hammer.  
"Good boy!" Jon cheered, kissing his seven-month-old son on the  
top of his fuzzy red head. "You got him!"  
Margot Yale sniffed disdainfully. "Aren't you starting him a little  
young?"  
"Never too young to know thy enemy," Jon replied, picking up  
the toy again. "Any news?"  
"Everything is still on schedule for Operation Champagne," she  
said. "I told you that my way would work better than your in-the-face  
propaganda."  
"Yes, dear heart, you've been an absolute Godsend. I'm looking  
forward to ringing in the new millennium."  
"Technically, this _isn't_ the new millennium," she said with the  
weary resignation of someone who'd tried to explain this countless times  
before. "_Next_ year is. The first year of the 21st century. Not the last  
year of the 20th."  
"Margot, Margot, Margot. You know that and I know that, but  
the common man on the street prefers to mark this milestone. We might as  
well go along with them."  
"I don't think you should stay. What's the good of setting up  
ironclad alibis for the rest of the high-ups if the main man is going to be  
right in the thick of it?"  
"Don't you see that I can't miss this? This night of all nights? My  
people need me to lead them. They can't go up against Xanatos alone."  
"You don't have a big enough army to storm that castle. Besides,  
Xanatos is human. He's not the enemy."  
"I beg to differ. Bad enough that he snatched those creatures right  
out from under me, but then he invaded my house, got into our  
communications, damn near crippled our organization. Who knows what  
he'll do next? He must be shown the error of his ways, forcibly."  
"You could bring legal action against him," Margot suggested.  
"It's well-known that he's harboring those beasts. There are laws against  
keeping vicious animals."  
"Once a lawyer, always a lawyer." Jon grinned. "I thought you  
left City Hall behind!"  
"I still have my contacts there. They don't know I'm working  
with you now; they think I'm taking time off to work through this nasty  
divorce settlement."  
"Little do they know how accommodating and insultingly  
generous your father-in-law's attorneys would be. I do believe that the  
senior Mr. Vandermere was eager to shake you out of his family tree."  
"And I was happy to go!" she said bitterly. "Brendan used to be  
the perfect husband. Rich, spoiled, vain, shallow. Now he's gone and  
developed a _personality_, the jerk! His insufferable sister's rotting in the  
boobyhatch --"  
"Nice clinical term, that," Jon said in an aside to Bryce. "Can't  
you just see her before a judge, when a client is pleading insanity?"  
"The point is, all my friends think I'm trying to pick up the  
pieces of my shattered life. They still keep me posted with what's going  
on at City Hall, figuring I'll come back someday. But if you get yourself  
arrested, everything might come out."  
"I hardly plan on that."  
"Does anyone?"  
"I thought you believed in this crusade," he said, leaving Bryce to  
play with his blocks and going to Margot. "You've heard the reports. You  
know what's going on in that castle. They're spawning, breeding! We  
have to strike now, before they can raise up whole litters! Just one of  
those things destroyed my entire family. Imagine what hundreds of them  
could do."  
"I do believe in it! But I don't know if this is the right way to go  
about it. People could get hurt. Not just our people, but innocent people.  
You'll be setting the perfect stage for looting, rioting."  
"I'm aware of the risks. In fact, I'm counting on them! While  
those winged menaces are out looking for excuses to deliver their  
punishment, we'll be waiting for them. We'll single them out. And when  
we've killed them, we'll descend on that castle and eradicate every last  
trace of their nest. It's far too late to back out now, not when we've been  
planning this for months."  
She sighed. "I suppose you're right. Stage fright. End game  
jitters. I'd probably worry less if I knew I was going to be here with you.  
Going away makes it feel like I'm running, like I'm losing control."  
"I would rather have you by my side too, but there's no one else I  
trust to look after Bryce. You mean very much to us, Margot." He bent  
and kissed her cheek. "Very much indeed."  
  
* *  
  
"Last night the moon had a golden ring," Gustav Sevarius said.  
Instantly, Stephanie's tense, worried features relaxed into  
calmness. "And tonight no moon we see," she finished, after which she  
lapsed into an expectant silence.  
Dominique sighed. "I almost hate to do this."  
"You should be abed, my lamb."  
"Why? I'm completely healed by now, which would have caused  
problems if I'd stayed at the hospital."  
"Physically, yes, you seem in perfect health. But your  
immortality can't heal your heart as quickly."  
"Look who's waxing sentimental," she sneered.  
He failed to be fooled. "I know how much this child meant to  
you."  
"I don't need sympathy from you, Sevarius. Are you going to  
reprogram Stephanie, or stand there all day?"  
"Are you sure you want me to?" he asked. "After all, I'm not a  
young man, and it could be useful to have another trusted ally, one who  
knows your secret and can look out for your interests by night."  
Dominique regarded Stephanie thoughtfully. "She did do well  
today. I think you're right. Very well. Do what you need to. I'm going  
upstairs. It's almost dusk."  
As she left the sterile white dungeon of the doctor, she heard him  
speaking to Stephanie in soothing tones, telling her that she would  
remember nothing of the past few minutes, asserting that Ms. Destine  
needed her loyalty more now than ever.  
Alone in the elevator, she studied her reflection hatefully in the  
mirror on the back wall. What a difference since this morning! Her figure  
had regained its former shapeliness, so that her clothes hung on her like  
billowing sails. Her hair was vibrant again, her skin a healthy hue. Only  
her eyes, her bleak, red-rimmed eyes, gave any indication that something  
was wrong.  
She let herself into Jericho's sanctuary, the dark Avalon on the  
top floor. With winter here, the two of them spent most of their time at  
the Nightstone Building, since the weather was chancy to make the glides  
back and forth to the house on the lake. The clones were left mostly to  
their own devices, and it was a testament to both Jericho's diligent training  
and Sevarius' behavior modification plan that they hadn't managed to  
destroy the place.  
Her son and mate was perched atop one of the obsidian  
sculptures, wings half-spread, claws raised in a fearsome pose. A heavy  
melancholy settled over Dominique as she felt the telltale sparkles of heat  
in her bones that heralded the change.  
Moments later, she had half-spread wings of her own, and the  
pain of her transformation seemed shockingly less than she'd been used to  
over the past several months. It was true, then. The magic that shifted her  
from human to gargoyle had been more than her baby could withstand,  
making her body fight against itself.  
Jericho cast off his stone skin, which pattered down the sides of  
the sculpture and plinked into the pool. He saw her, and leaped down with  
a welcoming smile. It faltered after his third step.  
"Demona? What ... ? Did you lay the egg already? But it wasn't  
supposed to be for --"  
"No," she said softly, and that one word seemed to punch him in  
the stomach. "It's gone, Jericho. I miscarried."  
"No!" He sprang to her, clutched her hands in his. "It can't be!"  
She bit her lip, nodded. "This morning, at the presentation. There  
was nothing anyone could have done. It ... it would have been a boy."  
He searched her face, as if hoping that this was some cruel joke.  
When he saw only the truth and the pain there, a terrible rage and grief  
made him whirl away. He roared, brought his fists down on one of the  
obsidian pillars with cracking force. His rage vented, he gave in to the  
grief, and sank to the ground.  
Demona crumpled beside him, and they clung to each other in a  
shared storm of tears.  
  
* *  
  
"You know, you're crazy," Matt Bluestone said, passing a  
Starbucks cup over the back of the seat.  
"Why, because I wanted decaf?" Beth Maza replied.  
Elisa laughed as she tried to wedge herself more comfortably  
behind the wheel. They were parked not far from Times Square, watching  
people in party hats getting ready for the big event. The police-band radio  
spat a constant but low-key string of bulletins.  
"No, because a sexy single girl like you ought to have better  
things to do on New Year's Eve than tag along with her big sister on the  
job."  
"I told you, it's research for my sociology paper. Besides, it's not  
like I had a date or anything."  
"Yeah," Elisa said, as if the thought had just occurred to her,  
when in fact their mother had been fretting about it for months. "You  
haven't been dating much, not that you've told Mom about."  
Beth grinned wryly. "I don't tell Mom everything! But this time  
she's right. I've gone out a few times, but I'm just not clicking with  
anyone."  
"Hey, how about Rick?" Matt suggested. "He's between  
girlfriends."  
"Oh, wouldn't that look good around the station," Elisa said.  
"The guy everyone thinks is the father of my baby, dating my sister. Very  
cool."  
"I guess Coyote just spoiled me for mortal men," Beth shrugged.  
"You should know what that's like. Once with a non-human, and you can  
never go back."  
"No wonder all us mortal men have such a hard time finding  
women," Matt said.  
"Oh, please!" Elisa said. "You retrieved yours from the  
Underworld, so don't come whining to me!"  
"Just for that, I might not give you your present." Matt produced  
a large foil-wrapped box from beneath his seat.  
"Matt! I thought we agreed, no presents!"  
"That was for Christmas. This is your birthday. Different  
occasion altogether. Go on, open it!"  
"If it's something stupid like a size 4x T-shirt that says 'Egg on  
Board,' you're walking home," Elisa warned as she tore into the paper.  
Inside, she found a bunch of scented bath oils from a ritzy boutique, a  
large tin of toffee-chocolate almonds, and a new novel by one of her  
favorite authors.  
While she was still gaping in delighted surprise, Matt said, "If  
there's one thing I learned while Edie was carrying Orph, a pregnant  
woman can get real sick of being treated like an incubator. You're still  
you, but people sometimes forget that because they're so focused on the  
baby. Happy Birthday, partner."  
"Thank you, Matt! I love it!" She gave him an impulsive, chaste  
kiss on the cheek, feeling truly happy for the first time since the horrible  
night two weeks ago when Xanatos had told them about Demona's  
miscarriage.  
That news had fallen upon the clan like an avalanche, yet no one  
had said another single word about it. They hadn't been able to. What was  
there to say?  
Elisa knew that Xanatos had arranged for flowers to be sent, and  
she suspected Angela might have written to her mother, but the rest of  
them could not bring themselves to discuss it. Even she and Goliath,  
alone, had never spoken of it. She had never been more conscious of the  
delicate balance of biology and magic keeping her baby safe. She knew the  
vivid awareness would haunt the rest of her own pregnancy, and possibly  
reach into the next several years thereafter.  
Beth leaned into the front seat. "My birthday's June 11."  
Elisa gave her a look. "Shouldn't you have your belt on? Seen as  
how you're riding in a cop's car with two cops?"  
"Oh, all right, all right." She buckled up. "'Egg on Board' ...  
I've got to remember that."  
"You really want me to tell Dad about your tattoo, don't you?"  
Elisa teased.  
"No good, sis, he saw it at Christmas when I was trying on the  
slippers Maggie gave me. He thought it was neat. Hey, have you seen  
Delilah lately? I thought Aiden was getting big, but _whoa_! Derrek says  
she can barely glide."  
"Speaking of kids ..." Matt pulled a thick sheaf of photos out of  
his trenchcoat.  
"Awww!" Beth crooned.  
"You should've seen him when he was born," Elisa said, giving  
Matt a teasing wink. "Blotchiest, squashiest baby I've ever seen."  
"Well, he's adorable now," Beth said. "Look at those big dark  
eyes! I just want to pick him up and hug him!"  
"Everyone falls for that look," Matt boasted. "Even people who  
normally hate kids -- I mean, hate them like they'd just as soon see them  
all mailed to Tibet -- go nuts over Orph."  
Beth admired all the photos, then passed them back to Matt.  
"Yo, partner," Matt said. "Check it out. Isn't that Harry the  
Hammer, our favorite fanatic?"  
Elisa peered through the snow-speckled windshield toward a  
group of sign-wielding people gathered on a corner. "Damn! When did he  
get out of the hospital? And what's he doing with the anti-computer  
fruitcakes?"  
"He always was a sucker for cults and con men," Matt said. "But  
yeah, I wouldn't have expected him to be with this bunch. Unless they've  
convinced him that Bill Gates is the Antichrist."  
"It's only half an hour until midnight," Beth said, checking her  
watch. "They must be waiting to see if they're proved right or wrong."  
"I don't think so," Matt said slowly. "Call it a hunch, but ..."  
The crowd swelled as last-minute stragglers flooded into the  
already jam-packed Square. It was pickpocket's paradise, Elisa knew from  
previous years. Every available badge was out tonight, ready to keep the  
peace and save the drunken revelers from themselves.  
As the moment drew nearer, Harry the Hammer and his friends  
didn't budge from their spot on the streetcorner. Harry himself was  
standing right beside a pay phone. When it rang, at 11:57 by the clock on  
the dashboard, Harry picked it up.  
"I don't like this," Matt said, reaching for his door handle.  
"Wait," Elisa said. "Let's see what he's up to first."  
The babble of the crowd suddenly changed from meaningless  
noise to thousands of voices counting down as one: "Ten ... nine ... eight  
..."  
Harry raised two fingers like the barrel of a gun and tipped them  
toward one of the other millooniums, who reached into his coat.  
"Huh-unh, no way." Matt opened his door.  
The milloonium pulled out something that looked like a controller  
for a kid's radio-powered car, twiddled the knob.  
"Two ... one! Happy New --"  
Before the crowd could holler "Year," from around the city came  
the sound of explosions. First one, then a pause. Then four, six, ten, a  
dozen smaller ones.  
The great glittering apple with "2000" emblazoned across it  
sputtered and went dark. The power went out, whole city blocks at once,  
plunging Manhattan into ghostly snow-blackness.  
"Shit!" Elisa, Matt, and Beth cried together.  
"Blackout, the bastards staged a blackout!" Matt added.  
"Everyone'll blame it on the computers," Beth said.  
A startled hush lay over the city for about five seconds, and then  
everything went to hell.  
* *  
  
"Two ... one!" Angela ran her hand along Brooklyn's thigh,  
letting him know she was thinking of their last New Year's Eve, hoping to  
elicit a smile from her mate. Maybe this new year would close out the old  
and give them all a chance to start fresh.  
"Happy New --" the rest began, and then the television went  
dark. So did the room. So did the castle.  
"Damn it, that's not supposed to happen!" David Xanatos rushed  
from the room, calling for Owen and demanding to know what the hell  
had happened to the building's internal power supply.  
Hudson shot to his feet. "Come on, then, lads, we've work to  
do!"  
"What about us?" Angela hauled herself off the couch on her  
second try, then sank sheepishly back as she realized that was answer  
enough.  
"Goliath and Broadway are over by Times Square," Elektra said.  
"We'll hook up there, then." Brooklyn brushed his knuckles  
against Angela's brow, then patted her tummy. "Back soon, junior!"  
"Be careful!" Aiden told Lex, hugging him around the neck.  
"Hey, it's just looters and rioters. Nothing we can't handle," he  
assured her.  
"Look after them, boy," Hudson ordered Bronx, indicating the  
females. Bronx whined in disappointment, but trudged over and stood at  
Angela's feet.  
The lights flickered, then came back on in a steady glow. But the  
television only blared static, and from the windows they could see only a  
well of frosted night scratched by automobile headlights.  
  
* *  
  
"Want a pretzel?" Broadway offered.  
Goliath shook his head, his attention fixed on the sea of humans  
below, popping champagne corks and confetti streamers all over each  
other as the enormous golden apple began to lower and the countdown  
started.  
It would have to be a golden apple, he thought with bitter  
amusement.  
KRRR-ZZZZ-BAMMM!  
A few blocks away, a tall power transformer geysered sparks. A  
string of smaller explosions went off at relay stations strategically situated  
around the city, like dominoes in quick succession.  
The Square was still lit, but only with an insane Wonderland of  
glow-in-the-dark necklaces and cheap flashlights adorned with sprays of  
plastic filaments, all sold by vendors at ten bucks apiece.  
The crowd reacted as if a hoard of yellowjackets had settled onto  
them, screaming and shoving in all directions. Glass shattered as people  
threw wastebaskets through store windows. And in the midst of all the  
lunacy, the Aerie Building suddenly came to life, a bright beacon.  
  
* *  
  
Right around 11:30, T.J. Lawton suffered a premonition.  
"Oh, hell, what now?" he wondered unhappily to himself. This  
sort of psychic crap was not part of his usual repertoire, and he didn't  
much care for the thought that he might be developing new abilities that  
would make him even more of a freak.  
Yet there was no denying it, this was a premonition. Goose  
waddling over his grave, the shivers, the whole deal. Something was about  
to go down, some serious bad shit.  
He looked around to see if any of the others felt it too, although it  
would have surprised him. They were the normal people, after all. And  
just as he'd expected, they all kept on with their conversations as if  
nothing weird was happening.  
His roommate Birdie was bringing in a jug of punch and a fifth of  
vodka to add to the punchbowl, resplendent for the occasion in a curve-  
hugging velvet dress the exact shade T.J. and his pals back in Joshua Flats  
had referred to as "hello, officer" red. Birdie was a whole lotta chick,  
probably too much chick to be wearing a dress that tight, but she had the  
right attitude to pull it off.  
Her brother Chas was sitting on the couch with his roommate  
Eric, in a good-natured argument about each other's musical tastes as they  
tried to decide on a new CD. T.J. momentarily almost forgot his  
  
premonition as he kicked himself again for not having figured it out  
sooner, but then, _all_ those preppy guys had sort of a faggy air about  
them, so how was he supposed to have known?  
Cindy, a stone-gorgeous babe who had gone right from the  
Sterling Academy drama program into a plush movie deal opposite the one  
and only Leo, was the only one looking toward T.J. Smiling, too, which a  
year ago might have sent his pulse rate into overdrive. However, he'd had  
some bad experiences with stone-gorgeous babes recently, so he wasn't all  
that moved.  
The rest of the gang -- Tina, Jeff, Patsy, and some other of  
Birdie's former school chums whose names he'd forgotten -- were hanging  
out doing the party thing. None of them gave any sign of noticing anything  
out of the ordinary. But for T.J., the feeling was only getting stronger.  
He went into the tiny kitchen, where it was a little quieter, and  
tried to get a handle on his whacked-out senses. Puck and Alex kept telling  
him he had to pay attention to the weird shit, even if he'd just as soon  
ignore it. Because, they'd said and he'd grudgingly had to admit they were  
right, the more you ignore it, the more likely it is to blow up in your face.  
Hot in here. When Birdie entertained, she went a little berserk,  
so stuff was simmering on all four burners and there was a clunky old  
fondue pot that looked ready to detonate at any minute, showering the  
room with melted chocolate.  
T.J. opened the window that gave onto the fire escape, and all at  
once the feeling got stronger. Way stronger. He could even center on it  
now -- the bigass old antenna tower that stuck out of the top of the  
building next door.  
That was part of why he'd lobbied for this particular apartment.  
One of the other things Puck had explained to him was that there were  
lines of power in the earth and air that magic-freaks could sometimes tap  
into. He didn't know squat about the earth and air, but he understood the  
concept of power lines just fine, and being near that thing made him feel  
strangely at home.  
He wasn't even sure what it was called. An electric transformer,  
a power relay station, something like that. He understood, though,  
intuitively (more of that psychic crap), that it was a central point, a  
juncture, a hub. Being near it, he felt connected.  
Now, though, he felt troubled.  
"Hey, studmuffin," Birdie said, tapping him on the shoulder.  
"Enjoying our spectacular view or something? You've been standing there  
twenty minutes. It's almost midnight! And it's freezing in here; you're  
getting snow on the floor."  
"Yeah, okay, be right there," he mumbled absently.  
Something wrong at the power tower. It pulled at his brain.  
Something wrong.  
He crawled out the window onto the icy fire escape. A thick  
cable ran just over his head. He reached up and closed his fist around it.  
Juicing up. Energy surged and crackled into him.  
From inside, he heard a cork pop, heard Birdie filling glasses.  
The countdown began.  
Another premonition smacked him, and he let go of the cable two  
seconds before the explosion. He screamed without knowing he screamed,  
sensing the current short out, sensing the sudden blind idiot blare of  
machines seeking, seeking, their lifeblood cut off.  
Dead darkness slammed down like a coffin lid.  
  
* *  
  
"Stay in the car!" Elisa shouted at Beth.  
"You, too!" Beth shouted back.  
"No can do. It's my job." She slammed the door behind her and  
looked across the roof of the car at Matt, both of them sharing the same  
wry thought: so much for the coffee break.  
Her partner jumped into the glare of the headlights and flashed  
his badge. "Police!" he bellowed through the bullhorn he'd retrieved from  
the trunk. "Everybody remain calm! Return to your homes in an orderly  
fashion --"  
"Shut up, pig!" Someone bounced a can of beer off his shoulder,  
and an ugly rippling murmur of approval greeted this show of defiance.  
"Do people still call cops pigs?" Matt wondered at Elisa, then  
turned and grabbed the offender and wrestled him up against a wall.  
She didn't answer, because just then she saw Harry the Hammer  
and his group start moving. Many of them were carrying flashlights, the  
long-handled kind the police themselves favored because it was good as a  
baton in a pinch.  
More people materialized out of the chaos to join them. She  
recognized several faces from want-sheets and photos from various  
Quarryman activities, but none of them were wearing their bodysuits or  
toting their hammers. That failed to reassure her; in fact, only made her  
more wary. Whatever they were up to, they didn't even want it traced to  
the Quarrymen, who had never before been shy about taking credit for  
their mayhem.  
She grabbed the bullhorn that Matt had dropped, and began doing  
her best to restore order. Some people listened to her and fled indoors, but  
the Quarry-mob didn't disperse. Their attention seemed to be fixed on  
something behind her, and when she risked a quick glance, she saw the  
Aerie Building shining in the night.  
"Behold the Tower of Satan! His minions fly among us!"  
Elisa whirled. "Harry! You're under arrest!"  
He looked her way, and his face was transformed by loathing,  
dread, and an eerie revelation. She took a step forward, and only then  
realized that he was staring at her stomach.  
"Devil-lover!" he yelled. "Bride of demons! She's carrying the  
inhuman spawn of one of those monsters!"  
His flunkies were willing to be convinced, and surged toward  
her. Many of them recognized her from other rallies and events she'd  
broken up, and hated her even if they didn't believe Harry's impassioned  
claim.  
Elisa stumbled back against the car, for the first time in her law  
enforcement career utterly terrified for her life. And moreso for the life of  
the child within her.  
Matt, having cuffed his heckler to a mailbox, waved urgently at  
her. "Get inside!"  
The rush of wings and the crumple of metal as a very large  
gargoyle landed on the roof of Elisa's car was music to her ears.  
The advancing Quarrymen fell back, horrified, very few of them  
having ever seen an actual gargoyle in the flesh. Harry managed to look at  
once scared to death and exalted.  
"Good timing!" Matt turned to wink at Elisa's personal guardian  
angel, then his eyes widened in surprise just before a taloned foot caught  
him under the chin. The kick sent him flying back, denting the mailbox  
and landing on top of the cuffed man.  
Elisa froze in shock. That foot had been twilight-blue. "Jericho!"  
He leapt from the car, seized her under the arms, and whipped  
the legs out from under Harry the Hammer with one swipe of his muscular  
tail. Still carrying Elisa, he jumped back onto the Fairlane -- the two front  
tires blew and the hood caved in when he landed on it -- and from there to  
the roof, then to a van, then to a ledge.  
And then into the air.  
  
* *  
  
"See how the devil snatches his own from the wrath of the  
righteous!" Harry ranted. "But we are stronger! We are not afraid to face  
the devil on his own turf!" He leveled his flashlight at the distant glow of  
the Aerie Building.  
His mob, its numbers swelled by hangers-on caught up in the  
crazed fever of the moment, cheered and followed as he led them toward  
the Aerie Building, which drew him like a moth to a flame.  
There, he would root out and destroy every last trace of the  
devils. Including the Maza woman, whom he should have known all along  
was the Dark Madonna. If he survived, the Chosen One would honor him  
greatly on earth, and if not, he would reap his reward in the glory of  
Heaven.  
  
* *  
  
"I thought you didn't go in for this superhero stuff!" Birdie  
shouted, slipping and sliding after T.J. as he ran across the roof.  
He didn't slow, didn't answer, just kept on busting his buns  
toward the source of that dark, dead emptiness. He'd never been up here  
before but he followed his instincts and knew just where to go.  
Birdie's brother was close behind her, having shown sense long  
enough to grab his coat -- an act that put him a couple rungs above Birdie,  
who was courting pneumonia in her sleeveless dress, and T.J. himself,  
who was wearing a joke T-shirt with a tuxedo design printed on the front.  
The rest of the party-goers were still inside, having a higher weirdness  
threshold than the three of them.  
Shapes in the slowmo static of the falling snow -- man-shapes like  
cutouts of black construction paper. Now T.J. slowed, startled by the  
possibility that this was some sort of crazy commando-terrorist thing  
instead of just an overload or something nice and ordinary like that.  
The man-shapes didn't even look his way, but went off the far  
side of the roof so fast they either jumped or repelled. Once they were  
gone, T.J. hurried past a big cup-and-prong that looked like a satellite  
dish, and stopped at the foot of the tall silvery spire.  
The sense of weirdness increased tenfold as he picked up on a  
flicker, like letters burned into his head, letters in white fire that spelled  
out "Puck was here."  
"Do you see that?" he asked Birdie.  
"What?"  
"Never mind." He filed it under M for "More weird shit" and  
turned his attention to the tower. A large metal box built against the side  
of it was burst open and smoking, the lid hanging warped and askew. The  
hum that he should have detected was gone, utterly gone, flat, dead,  
never-gonna-eat-barbecue-again.  
All around him, the city was a wailing horrorshow. Not just the  
people; to T.J., who had grown up in a town whose population had never  
exceeded two hundred, there were just too many people to seem real. Like  
the stars. You just had to accept it without thinking about it, or it would  
drive you out of your mind. It wasn't the people that got at him now, it  
was the machines, the electricity. The starving, flayed sizzle of exposed  
and seeking nerve endings.  
"Mind telling me what you're doing?" Birdie sounded exasperated  
but not terribly surprised.  
"Stay back," he told her. "This might get ... pyrotechnic."  
"Oh, yes, very nice," Chas said as if they were discussing the  
weather, and pulled his sister in the other direction.  
T.J. threw his arms wide, embracing as much of the base of the  
tower as he could reach. He thought insanely of those people who chained  
themselves to redwoods to spare the axes, knowing he must look a lot like  
that. A save-the-power-lines techno-druid. He wasn't normally much of a  
reader, but for one of his last school assignments he'd done a book report  
on Lucifer's Hammer, plodding through it with moderate interest. Now a  
line from it popped into his head in bright neon.  
"For the lightning!" he shouted.  
Birdie, who would probably be a wiseass on her deathbed,  
shouted back, "Spoon!"  
T.J. gave it everything he had. Once, when he'd been a little kid,  
he'd zapped himself a good one on a frayed lamp cord. He remembered  
his frantic adoptive mother swearing up and down that he shouldn't have  
survived -- and now he knew why he had -- but there hadn't even been any  
pain. A ticklish tingle, a weird pre-sexual jolt.  
This was just like it. He tripped something in the guts of the  
transformer, bringing it to sudden, sparking life, and the current fed into  
him, then he poured it back in, creating a loop with himself as a living  
conduit.  
St. Elmo's fire made a blue and white Spirograph in the sky. It  
dimmed, laboring, as T.J. struggled to cope with the heavy draining  
demand of lights and televisions and appliances all glomming onto the  
trickle of energy like millions of mosquitos on one pathetic vein.  
He reached deeper, reached outward from this central hub, and  
found the others. Dominos falling in reverse. A mental image -- series of  
switches, the big ones with perforated rubber handles, getting thrown into  
the 'on' position one by one.  
His back arched and his hair stood on end. He saw his hands  
gloved in white, saw sparks leaping from his skin. Just when he thought  
he couldn't take it anymore, that he was going to explode like a mouse in  
the microwave, something seemed to _catch_ and took over.  
T.J. reeled back a few steps, smoking, his thoughts an electric,  
senseless hurricane.  
"Tropical island in the sun," he warbled with a passable Jamaican  
accent. He flopped over bonelessly and soft blackness like warm felt  
enveloped him.  
  
* *  
  
The city groaned and brayed as the power came back on. The  
Year 2000 Blackout (as the papers would snidely call it the next day) had  
lasted all of fifteen minutes.  
All over Manhattan, emotions that had been rising to a fever pitch  
were cast into confusion. Those who seized on any excuse to loot had only  
started into motion when the lights came on again, leaving them awkward  
and embarrassed as burglar alarms howled.  
Goliath only nodded in satisfaction -- less work for his clan -- and  
kept gliding determinedly.  
A streetlight cast a pool of radiance over Elisa's car, showing the  
mangled metal to good advantage. At the periphery of the light was Matt  
Bluestone, out cold on top of a struggling, indignant man handcuffed to a  
mailbox.  
Goliath swooped down, his heart in his throat. "Elisa! Where are  
you?"  
Someone banged on the car door from the inside. Goliath bent  
down and saw Beth trying to force it open, but the roof had been bent  
inward and the doors were jammed. He yanked one off, and Beth  
practically fell into his arms.  
"Where is Elisa?"  
"Another gargoyle flew away with her," Beth said breathlessly.  
"She called him Jericho."  
  
* *  
  
"I suppose there's a perfectly good explanation for what we just  
saw," Chas Yale said, gallantly removing his coat and draping it over his  
sister's bare shoulders.  
"Yeah, but it's a long one," Birdie replied, gingerly approaching  
T.J. He had melted the snow around him into a smeary guy-shaped  
puddle, and he wasn't sparking or smoking anymore, but she still wasn't  
too eager to touch him.  
"Please, take your time and tell us," a voice invited, a crisp,  
classy, British-sounding voice.  
A man in a black outfit that looked like a Kevlar ninja-suit  
stepped into view. He had a neat blond moustache and was wearing a  
mask/headscarf, and Birdie would have had a major 'Princess Bride'  
moment if not for the gun the newcomer held cradled in his arms.  
Chas was wearing a don't-I-know-him? look, and Birdie grabbed  
his hand, squeezed it tight, trying to warn him to keep quiet. If Jon  
Canmore, Aunt Margot's new main honeybunch, knew that they  
recognized him, he'd blow them away. And if they thought their mother  
had a hefty Valium prescription _now_ ...  
"Please, mister, we didn't do anything," Birdie said, letting her  
voice shake. It wasn't hard; she didn't have to act. She'd been in some  
scrapes before, faced down killer unicorns and Quarryman hammers and  
thugs with switchblades, but this was the first time anyone had actually  
pulled a gun on her.  
"You might not have, but whoever that little bastard is, he's  
ruined _months_ of planning and hard work, and I'd like to know just how  
he did it."  
She wanted to say it, wanted to quote at him _so_ bad. But now it  
was Chas applying crushing force to her hand, picking up her thoughts  
with the stress-telepathy close friends and siblings sometimes shared.  
So, instead of suggesting that Canmore 'get used to  
disappointment,' she gulped and stammered, "I don't suppose you'd  
believe it was magic?"  
"Ha, ha, I think not." He was peering at the two of them now,  
his mouth curled down as if trying to figure out where he'd seen them  
before.  
Birdie didn't know if that would be a good thing or a bad one.  
Surely Aunt Margot hadn't told him anything friendly about her niece.  
Chas, though ... she'd never had anything against Chas ... oh, except for  
that yacht incident. Her spirits sank. She was not seeing a way out of this  
for the Yale kids that didn't end up with at least one of them shot.  
Unless maybe T.J. ...? She threw a quick hopeful look his way,  
but he was still totally out to lunch.  
"Well, Roberta?" Canmore asked, dashing her hopes that he  
hadn't recognized her.  
She had no idea what she was going to say, just that it would be  
some wildly inventive lie, and since it would be her last performance, she  
might as well make it a good one.  
"I --" she said.  
A snowball the size of a pumpkin plummeted from the sky,  
knocking Canmore flat on his face. The gun went off, searing a clear  
streak in the snow.  
Brooklyn landed and planted one talon on the barrel of the gun,  
brushing snow from his palms. "Happy New Year."  
"You have the best goddam timing, red, I could kiss you," Birdie  
said in a relieved rush.  
He winked. "Later. Who's the jerk?"  
"The man called Castaway," Chas said, and Brooklyn jumped  
like he'd been shot.  
"What?!"  
Canmore lunged up, shedding his coating of snow as if it were a  
stone skin. He tried to bring up the gun but Brooklyn's tail lashed it away,  
sending it sliding through the slush and over the edge of the building.  
"I'll kill at least one gargoyle tonight!" Canmore vowed  
vehemently.  
"I don't think so." Brooklyn landed a perfect punch, a textbook  
roundhouse that sent Canmore flying backward.  
With nearly balletic grace, he managed to keep his footing. He  
flicked a small sphere at the gargoyle, the savage grin on his face clearly  
stating that he expected it to have painful consequences. But as the sphere  
flew, electricity arced from it to the unconscious T.J., making him spasm  
like he just got hit with a defibrillator. The sphere, harmless now,  
bounced off Brooklyn's chest.  
T.J. bolted upright, but the dazed look on his face proclaimed  
that he had no idea where he was or what was happening. Birdie had seen  
that happen before. When he tried a major stunt, it sometimes blanked out  
his short-term memory, and this was the most major stunt to date.  
Brooklyn went after Canmore. "Got any other ideas?"  
Canmore backed up steadily. He looked torn between genocidal  
hatred and the discretion that was the better part of valor. When two other  
figures, Lex and Hudson, swooped low and landed, Canmore decided.  
He flung down another sphere, not taking his chances by tossing  
it near T.J. this time. A miniature sun bloomed, baking with heat. The  
gargoyles cried out and covered their eyes. While they were blinded,  
Canmore fled through the roof access stairwell door.  
  
* *  
  
It had been a long time since she knew fear in the arms of a  
gargoyle, Elisa Maza thought as her feet dangled far above the streets of  
Manhattan.  
A long time. Probably not since the first time, when she'd fallen  
and Goliath had come after her. At the time, she hadn't been sure which  
was the worse fate -- pavement pizza, or being torn apart and devoured  
alive by the fierce-looking creature that grabbed her.  
She still wasn't sure which was the worse fate.  
Elisa didn't struggle, didn't fight, didn't reach for the gun. Not  
that she could have gotten at her gun anyway; Jericho's hands were seated  
firmly under her arms, pressing the gun in its shoulder holster painfully  
into her side. Which meant that he knew it was there. Even through her  
bulky winter coat, he was bound to notice.  
She didn't try to talk to him either, partly because she would have  
to shout to make herself heard above the rushing wind, and partly because  
she had no idea what to say. All those classes, those cop psychology  
classes on dealing with the reality-challenged, didn't offer much that  
would be helpful in this case.  
He veered left, soared high, and descended toward the wide  
stone-railed balcony that marked the refurbished clocktower of the 23rd  
Precinct station house. The hands of the clock -- funded by a private  
donation from the Xanatos Foundation -- stood at 12:18.  
Jericho landed, released her, stepped back. He caped his wings  
and studied her with an unreadable expression.  
She could have gone for her gun then, but something made her  
wait.  
The silence between them became unbearable. His gaze shifted to  
her stomach, and his jaw tightened with pain and anger.  
"Why?" she asked when she couldn't stand the suspense a  
moment longer.  
"They didn't deserve the honor of killing you," he replied flatly.  
She swallowed. Tried to think of what she could say that  
wouldn't enrage him.  
"You're afraid, Elisa Maza," he said, apparently pleased by it.  
"Did you fear I would drop you?"  
Elisa nodded. "But you didn't."  
"And now you're wondering if it was so I could kill you at my  
leisure."  
"The thought crossed my mind." She willed herself to stay calm.  
"There's nothing I can say that will change your opinion, Jericho, so I  
won't try."  
"No appeal to the legendary nobility I supposedly inherited from  
my father?"  
She shook her head.  
"Good. You'd be wrong."  
"I know. Tell me what you want. If you want me to beg for my  
life, I will. For mine and my baby's."  
"Why should your child be allowed to live when ours wasn't?"  
His soft, intense whisper conveyed more anguish than any thundering  
roar.  
She shrank back, suddenly terrified that he would rip the amber  
pendant from her, strip her of the magic, make her body reject the  
pregnancy just as Demona's had done. Somehow, she kept her voice  
steady.  
"I can't answer that. There isn't an answer to that. But killing  
mine isn't going to bring yours back. All it would do is make me feel the  
way Demona must be feeling right now. Do you hate me that much?"  
"If you felt as she did, you'd be dead. There's no immortality to  
make suicide a futile thought for you. Since the day she lost the baby,  
nothing brings her joy."  
Elisa felt colder, not just from the chill seeping into her body  
from the snow-covered stone she leaned against, but spreading from  
within. "And you think my death would accomplish that?"  
Jericho's smile was sharp ice. "You misjudge me, detective. I've  
never intended to harm you."  
"What game are you playing?" She knew it was unwise, likely to  
provoke him, but she couldn't stop the irritation from tingeing her tone.  
"Simple." He moved forward, and she had nowhere to flee, so  
she pressed herself against the wall. Jericho stopped in front of her, lightly  
pinched her chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. He  
regarded her with mixed fascination and revulsion. "I don't understand  
what he sees in you. But I know that you mean everything to him. As long  
as Goliath has you, there is no way he'd ever go back to Demona."  
"Even if he didn't, he wouldn't!" she protested.  
"I think you're wrong. I think if he lost you, he would be  
devastated. His best and strongest tie with humankind would be torn away.  
He would eventually come to see the truth, come around to Demona's  
way. There's a chance she might take him back. I can't permit that."  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"As long as you are his, she is mine. Is that clear enough?"  
She recoiled, staring at him. "So that's it. You think he could win  
her away from you."  
"He couldn't," Jericho said through gritted teeth. "He cannot  
offer her what I do -- the dedication, the obedience that she desires. But I  
won't share her. I won't. She is mine, and I am hers. We are one. Now  
and forever. That is how it is meant to be, and I will not let Goliath ruin  
it. Which means that I must not only spare you, but protect you."  
The words fell between them like stones. Elisa gaped.  
"Yes," he said. "Protect you. Ironic, I know. And if Demona  
learned of it, I can't imagine her fury. She hates you with a fever that  
would burn cinderblock. But I see, as she does not, that your death would  
only bring her temporary happiness. While I can bring her a lifetime of it.  
As long as I keep you alive."  
  
* *  
  
"This is unbelievable," David Xanatos said, shaking his head.  
"Shouldn't they have torches and pitchforks?"  
"Flashlights and sledgehammers aren't good enough for you?"  
Angela retorted, peering down from the battlements at the encroaching  
mob.  
"It is rather a sorry showing," Elektra said. "I thought there were  
more."  
"There were, until the power came back on," Aiden said. "I  
guess the others didn't think it was fun anymore, once there was a chance  
they'd get caught."  
"Is there aught we should do?" Elektra wondered.  
"The building's defenses should prove more than adequate,"  
Owen replied.  
"But they mean to break the glass!"  
"Let them try." Xanatos smirked. "They'd need a tank."  
True enough, the first attempt with a hurled trash barrel  
rebounded off the lobby doors and rolled through the front line of the  
mob.  
"I've always wanted to drop a water balloon off of here," Aiden  
mused. "But I always worried I might hit somebody."  
"The way they're packed down there, you could hardly miss,"  
Angela said, grinning.  
"But I don't have any balloons. Guess I'll have to improvise."  
The small grey gargoyle conjured a sphere of water that hung wavery and  
ripply in midair. "Bombs away!"  
From far below came a startled outcry.  
"More," Elektra urged. "'Tis that, or start throwing rotten fruit  
and dumping chamber pots."  
Xanatos drew himself up, pretending to be offended. "Chamber  
pots? In _my_ castle?"  
"More?" Aiden looked at Owen, who tilted his head indifferently.  
"Well ... it is to protect the castle ... okay." She conjured again, this time  
bringing forth enough water to fill a swimming pool, and let it fall.  
KA-PHAAAASH!  
"Owen, make a note; we'll need the window-washers in  
tomorrow," Xanatos said as the drenched, freezing mob scattered like  
quail.  
  
* *  
  
Jon Canmore, unable to believe that it had all gone wrong so  
suddenly, flew his hoverbike around a skyscraper just in time to see his  
army dispersed under a torrent. He caught a brief glimpse of Harry the  
Hammer, one of his most loyal underlings, bounding in the opposite  
direction from the castle in panicked gazelle-like leaps.  
Disgusted and hurting from the red gargoyle's punch -- he was  
lucky his jaw hadn't been dislocated -- Canmore turned around and left the  
Aerie Building behind him.  
Hopelessness snuggled up to him, whispering its seductive tune.  
Give up, it wheedled. You'll never win. Forget about the gargoyles.  
"Never!" he shouted into the driving sleet, instantly regretting it  
because it caused a blossom of fresh pain in his wounded mouth.  
Badly in need of some inspiration, he headed for the police  
station. The sight of it would remind him how it used to be, how it was  
when he wasn't alone. When Jason had been in charge, so confident.  
When Robyn had been the constant comfort and support, making herself  
Wendy to her Lost Boys brothers. When they had been a family, joined by  
their common cause.  
He could not have asked for a better reward than the sight that  
met his eyes.  
A gargoyle of impressive wingspan, and a woman. In the  
shadows and snow, he couldn't be one hundred percent certain it was  
Goliath, but that didn't matter.  
He swooped to the attack.  
  
* *  
  
"Broadway, take Matt and Beth to the castle. Have Aiden seek  
for Elisa. I will begin here." Without waiting to see that his order was  
obeyed, Goliath clawed up the side of a building and took to the air.  
His desperate terror and rage at the thought of Elisa in the hands  
of his insane son were too much to deal with, so Goliath shoved his  
emotions aside and concentrated on his search. He went first to the  
Nightstone Building, and while he was busy finding nothing, heard a  
hoverbike motor.  
Although the rider was all in plain black, he knew one of the  
Hunters' vehicles when he saw it. He followed.  
  
* *  
  
"And so, good night." Jericho made a slight bow and prepared to  
leave.  
Elisa reached into her pocket, hoping one of her station keys  
would work on this door, or else she'd have to pick the lock.  
A high buzzing whine filled her ears, sending her memory  
spinning back to the day she had entered this very same building. Then,  
she'd heard it in the hallway, turned, been scooped up by Jason Canmore  
moments before the clocktower turned into a fireball.  
Now, it was coming from above.  
A harsh white beam stabbed down, pinning Jericho in a circle of  
light. He flung his forearm over his eyes and leapt to the side as a machine  
gun chattered.  
  
* *  
  
It wasn't Goliath. It wasn't the demon.  
But it looked like them both, and Jon didn't have to be shown a  
family tree to understand that it was their son. Both his worst enemies,  
rolled into one big package.  
"Die, monster, die," he breathed, and fired.  
The beast dodged, then whirled and plucked up the woman --  
Elisa Maza, of course, the woman who had poisoned Jason's mind and  
turned him against his family and his cause -- and dove over the rail.  
  
* *  
"There!" Lex shouted, pointing, as the hoverbike they'd been  
chasing zipped between two buildings.  
"Head him off!" Brooklyn called.  
They dipped low as they came around a corner, which saved  
them from a nasty midair collision as a huge gargoyle swept by right  
overhead with Elisa in his arms.  
"Goliath!" Lex hailed, but it went unheard as he kept on going.  
And here came Canmore, his spotlight slicing the night.  
And behind Canmore ...  
"Goliath?" Brooklyn gasped.  
  
* *  
  
Goliath would have thought he couldn't imagine a worse situation  
than Elisa captured by Jericho. But this was worse. Elisa captured by  
Jericho, with the Hunter in pursuit. If he went after one, the other would  
either get away or have the opportunity to kill.  
Two figures soared to meet him. He braced for an attack, then  
recognized Brooklyn and Lexington.  
"What's going on?" Lex yelled.  
"Stop Canmore! I'll take Jericho!"  
"Oh, shit!" Brooklyn exclaimed succinctly as he jerked his head  
around to stare after the departing gargoyle. "It _is_ Jericho!"  
"Where is Hudson?"  
"With T.J. and Birdie. T.J.'s messed up," Lex hastily explained  
as he and Brooklyn came about in tight formation and went after the  
hoverbike.  
Goliath nodded curtly and spoke a word he'd never said out loud  
before, which brought wide-eyed shock to the faces of his younger  
clansmembers. He spread his wings and let the updrafts carry him high.  
If only Hudson had been here ... of all the clan, he alone had  
something approaching a rapport with Jericho. But Hudson wasn't here,  
which meant they couldn't bother with diplomacy.  
Goliath clenched his fists and flew onward.  
  
* *  
  
As if things weren't crazy enough! Elisa thought, cringing against  
the shelter of Jericho's broad chest as bullets whizzed past them. This was  
pretty much the last way she'd expected to spend the first hour of the New  
Year. The only way things could get worse would be --  
She made herself shy away from that line of thinking, because  
with her luck, it would happen.  
  
* *  
  
Gargoyles to the left of him, gargoyles to the right of him.  
Jon Canmore cursed and snarled as they closed in, the red one  
who had punched him, and his smaller companion. He took evasive  
action, but the red one passed under him and ripped with his talons at the  
underside of the hoverbike.  
Smoke belched from the steering column, and all at once the bike  
went where it had a mind to, like a crazed bronco. Canmore fought with  
it, to no avail. The throttle jammed, the bike screamed as it accelerated,  
and the plate-glass window of a pricey Park Avenue apartment complex  
towered dead ahead.  
The gargoyles split off from the doomed bike as it crashed  
straight into the window and kept on going.  
Canmore shrieked and ducked, covering his face. The bike tipped  
wildly back and forth, nearly throwing him, as the furnishings of a ritzy  
living room passed in a blur.  
A closed door.  
The bike went through; Canmore didn't, peeled off on the top of  
the door frame.  
A hall, then another door. Again the bike went through. On the  
other side was another apartment, this one full of partygoers who jumped  
out of the way as the hoverbike sped by.  
  
* *  
  
"Where did he --?" Brooklyn began, and then the hoverbike came  
smashing out a window on the other side of the building, slammed into a  
brick wall, exploded, and began to rain down on Park Avenue in a shower  
of burning metal.  
"Wow, just like in a movie!" Lex said. "He wasn't on it, so let's  
go!"  
Faces beneath party hats had appeared at the jagged hole that used  
to be a window, but they scrambled back as the gargoyles appeared.  
"Hi, Happy New Year," Brooklyn said as they crunched over  
broken glass and mangled furniture as hastily as they could. "Don't mind  
us; just passing through."  
Although they could easily trace the bike's path, Canmore was  
gone like smoke.  
  
* *  
  
Goliath was aware of the hoverbike's spectacular crash, but it  
stirred nothing in his heart except the mildest relief. All that mattered to  
him was Elisa.  
Ahead of him, below him, Jericho wove a course among the  
skyscrapers. He landed atop a department store, in the shelter of a  
weatherbeaten light-festooned aluminum Christmas tree that had yet to be  
taken down.  
Jericho released Elisa and moved a few paces from her. Just the  
opening Goliath had been hoping for. He thrust his fists out in front of him  
and dove, letting gravity and momentum turn him into one gigantic  
projectile.  
The force of the collision reverberated down Goliath's spine.  
Jericho cartwheeled backward, head over tail, into the base of the  
Christmas tree. It tolled like a gong. The mass of the tree tilted over with  
a slow squeal.  
Goliath glanced quickly at Elisa, she all wide dark eyes and  
streaming dark hair. How close he had come to never seeing that beloved  
face again! How close he had come to losing her, their child, everything!  
Just as Aiden had foretold!  
He would not let that future come to be. He stalked toward the  
groaning, moving pile of limbs that was Jericho, claws eager to rend and  
ruin.  
"Goliath, no!" Elisa cried. "He saved my life!"  
He stopped, incredulity washing over him. "What?"  
"He saved my life," Elisa repeated.  
Jericho sat up, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his  
hand, and met Goliath's eyes with a challenging glare. "Do you have a  
problem with that?"  
He looked back and forth between them, uncertain. "But ..."  
Jericho laboriously got to his feet, wincing. "Don't think you  
know everything, Goliath. Don't think you know _me_! Your ... mate has  
nothing to fear from me."  
Incredibly, unbelievably, he almost thought that Jericho spoke the  
truth.  
Elisa came to Goliath's side, took his arm. "He means it. If he  
wanted me dead, I would be by now."  
"I ... he ..." Goliath floundered, then shook his head and faced  
Jericho. "Thank you."  
"I didn't do it for you, so keep your thanks." Jericho limped to  
the edge of the roof, unfurling his wings with a hiss of pain as the bruised  
flesh moved and stretched.  
Goliath drew Elisa close against his side, feeling her tremble  
from reaction and from the cold as the snow began falling more heavily.  
"Jericho ..."  
The younger male stepped off without pausing, reappearing  
moments later on an updraft, a dwindling shadow against the winter's  
backdrop.  
Elisa rested her head against his chest. "What a night, huh?"  
He sank his fingers into her snow-speckled hair and ran his palm  
over the bulge of weight that cradled their child. "When Beth told me ..."  
"I know. I thought so too."  
"But we were wrong about Jericho," Goliath said, feeling a  
strange warmth of hope. "He is not beyond redemption."  
Elisa sighed. "Actually, he's even crazier than we suspected. But  
right now, I'm glad."  
  
* *  
  
"They're waiting for you," Margot Yale said impatiently.  
"Let them wait," Jon Canmore slurred. He reached for the bottle  
of scotch and knocked it over. The liquid ran across his prepared speech  
and dribbled onto the floor.  
Margot snatched up the papers. "You can't go on like this, Jon.  
They're depending on you."  
"Why? Haven't I failed them enough yet?" His gaze weaved its  
way up to her as if unable to decide which of two Margots to focus on.  
"After that New Year's debacle, I'm amazed any of them ever showed up  
again! We make our plans, and we fail. Every time, we fail!"  
"So you're going to let them win?"  
He finally noticed the spilled bottle, and stood it upright again.  
"Haven't they?"  
"I guess they have." Margot took a folded piece of construction  
paper from her purse. "Look at what my niece sent me."  
He opened it and stared at the newsprint headline about the  
blackout, pasted above a photograph of himself from last year's VIP  
magazine. Someone had added a magic-marker moustache, long and stiff  
and curled up at the ends, and a word-balloon with "Curses! Foiled  
again!" scrawled inside.  
"I really hate that girl," he said.  
  
* *  
  
"I don't care if it _is_ tradition!" Angela said, waddling toward  
Hudson with one finger poking at him threateningly. "I want my mate  
right here in the rookery with me!"  
"But lass ..." He gave up. "Aye, verra well."  
Aiden and Elektra giggled and went on patting and rearranging  
straw until it was piled to their liking. Over the past couple of weeks, each  
female had insisted on bringing various items to make the place more  
homey. Aiden's stuffed toy Gizmo, a watercolor Elektra had done of  
Avalon, photographs of the clan and their friends -- in Hudson's opinion,  
it was all far too cluttered and they'd have scant room for all the eggs, but  
he had to keep reminding himself that there weren't going to be three  
dozen eggs this time. He couldn't even really hope for more than five or  
six.  
Outside the castle, February doldrums held Manhattan in a dreary  
grip. The snow that had blanketed the city white in January had now  
become heaps of brown mush. But inside, as the females grew near their  
term, all was happiness and excitement. The moodiness was behind them  
now, though they were getting weary of being landbound.  
Angela could still glide short distances, but was acutely conscious  
of how funny she looked when she did. Aiden looked like a top view of an  
opened umbrella, the poor lass barely able to get her arms to her sides on  
account of how round her middle had gotten. Elektra was still much too  
thin for Hudson's liking, but at last her nervous stomach had settled and  
she'd put on a few pounds.  
"Look who's here!" Elisa called from the top of the rookery  
stairs.  
"Delilah!" Angela waved in welcome, then goggled as Delilah  
made her way carefully down.  
Hudson's jaw dropped. He'd not seen her much over the winter,  
and while he'd heard she was getting big, he wasn't prepared for the sight  
of her. She was almost shaped like an egg herself, a smooth curve belling  
out her flesh. And beautiful! If there was anything more lovely to behold  
than a female at the height of her breeding season, it was one who  
brimmed with new life.  
Her eyes touched his briefly and warmly, then flicked away. She  
joined her sisters in arranging straw, and he moved to the rear wall to  
watch them with what he hoped seemed grandfatherly indulgence.  
Elisa laughingly declined to join them. "I'll use a crib, thanks  
anyway!"  
As they worked, Elektra and Angela began to sing an old Scottish  
cradle-song that they must have learned at Katherine's knee. Halfway  
through the third chorus, Elektra broke off with a startled exclamation and  
pressed her hands to her belly.  
"Elektra?" Aiden reached for her.  
"Would someone be so kind as to fetch my mate?" she asked.  
"Methinks 'tis time!"  
"I'll get him," Elisa said, hurrying for the door.  
Hudson felt acutely out of place. A male in the rookery, when the  
eggs were being lain? It just wasn't done that way!  
But, evidently, now it was.  
Broadway came in all anxious and jittery, holding Elektra's hand  
while she smiled and reassured him. Dr. Masters, who had endeared  
himself to all the females over the past six months, checked each of them  
and announced that he wouldn't be surprised if they all clutched tonight.  
Had something to do with those pheromone things again. He launched into  
a complicated lecture, but Hudson told him to save it for later.  
The news sent the castle into a tizzy. Owen was hastily  
dispatched to retrieve Samson from the Labyrinth. By midnight, the upper  
hall was crowded with friends and well-wishers. Aiden's family in  
California waited by the phone to hear how many grandchildren they could  
be expecting in ten more years.  
Below, in the rookery, the only ones in attendance were the  
mated pairs, Hudson, and the doctor. That was for the best, given the  
modesty of some of the females.  
At five past twelve, Elektra birthed one small egg, its shell soft  
and pale, mottled with large purplish spots.  
"A lad, most likely," Hudson said.  
Dr. Masters looked up with interest. "How can you tell?"  
"The pattern o' the markings," he explained absently, keeping a  
close watch on Delilah. Samson was doing well, supporting her as she  
strained.  
"A boy!" Elektra fell back into the straw, gasping from her  
exertions, and caressed the shell with one slim hand. She gazed  
rapturously up at Broadway, who wasn't ashamed to have all his brothers  
see him cry. "Malcolm."  
"Malcolm," Broadway agreed, touching the egg.  
Hudson smiled, remembering his friend the prince, Elektra's  
father. It seemed right and fitting that her child should be named for him.  
Nothing more happened until after one in the morning, and then  
several things happened at once. Four hours passed in a blur, with Birdie  
and T.J. running back and forth carrying news of each new development  
to the others waiting upstairs.  
Finally, at five-thirty, Dr. Masters exhaled wearily. "I do believe  
we're done."  
Hudson sat against the wall, stunned.  
Nine eggs rested in the rookery.  
One for Elektra. Two for Aiden, a male and a female. Two for  
Angela, also a male and a female. And for Delilah ... an amazing total of  
four! Three males and a female, their shells sturdy, their markings clear.  
Fine, strong eggs.  
_His_ eggs! He wanted to go to Delilah, hold her and  
congratulate her and thank her, but Samson was doing that already, and if  
he did the same, their carefully-kept secret of the past several months  
would be out and undone.  
But, as he watched her, exhausted and magnificent, curling her  
body amid the shells to give them her warmth, he almost did it anyway.  
  
* *  
  
"We were down. We were beaten. But now ..." Jon Canmore  
paused, letting the tension build. "We live again!"  
Full-throated roars answered him. Not as many as there once  
might have been, true. Membership had dropped off a bit. But what these  
remaining Quarrymen lacked in numbers, they made up for in sheer  
bloody-minded fanaticism.  
Oddly, he could thank Harry the Hammer for it all. Following  
the blackout, Harry had been found by the cops and detained in the psych  
ward, raving with what they thought were standard end-of-the-millennium  
religious delusions.  
But Jon, once he deciphered the man's babbling, was stricken  
with a cold, dark certainty. His thoughts flashed back to the brief glimpse  
of Elisa Maza, realizing that it hadn't been just a coat and sweater  
thickening her normally trim figure. Once he'd gotten over the repulsed  
shock, he had quickly seen ways to turn her blessed event to his  
advantage.  
It would have been an easy matter to abduct her from the police  
station. Well, perhaps not an easy matter, but possible. He had even gone  
so far as to begin planning the assault.  
And then the answer had come to him, clear and perfect. There  
was no way she would be able to keep a half-gargoyle monstrosity  
concealed. The world would know. He would see to that. Perhaps the  
gargoyles themselves were no longer sufficient to strike fear in the hearts  
of men, but the news that they were tainting humanity with their evil seed  
... that would bring about a whole new wave of terror.  
Terror was good for business.  
The people would cry out for the Quarrymen to protect them.  
The Quarrymen, who had known this threat for what it was all along.  
Who had tried to stop it and been mocked, jeered, treated like criminals.  
Now the world would see that everything the brotherhood of the hammer  
had done was in humanity's best interest!  
So he would keep an eye on the degenerate Ms. Maza and her  
horrific mutant child. Sooner or later, she would slip, and he would be  
there.  
There was nothing like a renewed sense of purpose to make a  
man feel like himself again.  
  
* *  
  
"Are you getting enough sleep?" Goliath fretted.  
"As much as you are," Elisa said, yawning. "All day long, like a  
stone." She grimaced.  
"What is it?"  
"Another of those Braxton-Hicks contractions, feel."  
He touched her stomach, which was hard as a drum, the flesh  
drawn taut. It remained that way for the better part of a minute, then  
relaxed. An immediate kick was felt by both of them.  
"Someone is protesting," he rumbled, smiling.  
"Someone's probably bored and ready to come out," Elisa said.  
"God knows _I'm_ ready!"  
"It is still a week until the due date," he reminded her.  
"I'm counting the hours," she assured him, shifting to try and  
find a more comfortable position that didn't put pressure on her back or  
her bladder. There weren't any. Finally she rolled onto her side, cradling  
her stomach in one arm.  
Kick, kick, kick.  
"Okay, all right, okay already!" Elisa said, rolling onto her back.  
"Strong little thing! Takes after Daddy. Would you get the tape?  
Sometimes the music helps."  
He obliged, fitting the headphones onto her abdomen. Elisa still  
couldn't believe she was doing this, but Maggie swore by it, and she had  
to admit, it did settle the baby down. The soothing music of Mozart began  
playing.  
For about thirty seconds, and then the music turned into a garbled  
mess. Goliath popped the cassette out, trailing intestinal coils of tape.  
"Oh, great," Elisa laughed and groaned at the same time. "Now  
what?"  
Goliath rested his head on her like a pillow, and began to hum.  
The deep, low tones seemed to sink into her like heat. The pulsing glow of  
the amber pendant around Elisa's neck slowed. The baby calmed.  
So did Elisa, lulled into sleep. She surfaced briefly, aware of  
Goliath's tender kiss brushing her lips, and then he departed to take his  
place on the battlements before dawn.  
She let sleep claim her.  
Wakefulness came completely and suddenly. She saw the last red-  
gold rays of the sun beaming through breaks in the rain-heavy April  
clouds.  
She struggled to sit up, her bones aching from several hours in  
the same position. A cramp dug into her side and she paused until it went  
away. But it didn't go away -- it intensified into a vise that made her fist  
her hands in the sheets and gasp.  
"Uh-oh," she muttered to herself. "That was a real one."  
She picked up the phone at the bedside. "Doc? It's showtime."  
  
* *  
  
Goliath woke with a roar, breathing the rainwashed air. All  
around him, his clan did the same.  
"Let's patrol the park!" Angela said. "I love the park after a good  
rain!" The females had regained their former sleek shapes, and now that  
the weather was being cooperative, they relished every chance to get out  
and glide.  
"Good evening," Xanatos said, emerging onto the battlements.  
He popped a cigar into Goliath's mouth.  
"What is this for?" Goliath spat it into his hand and regarded it  
with distaste.  
"It used to be the custom for the expectant father to pace the  
waiting room handing out cigars. Just thought I'd help you get the custom  
out of the way." He proffered a box.  
Aiden squealed. "You mean, now?"  
"Now," Xanatos said.  
Goliath drew his brow ridges together. "What are you talking  
about?"  
Xanatos clapped him on the shoulder. "They just wheeled Elisa  
into the delivery room."  
"What?!" He flung down the cigar. "And you waste my time with  
this nonsense?" Without waiting for an answer, he shoved past the  
smirking Xanatos and loped for the stairs.  
Dr. Johnson, who still had not said a word to any of the clan, or  
indeed spoken at all in their hearing, was just coming out with a clipboard.  
She ducked out of the way as Goliath charged past. He caught the door  
before it could close.  
Elisa smiled at him, though her face was tense with pain.  
"Someone's decided to come early."  
"Only a week," Dr. Masters said. "I feel that's comfortably  
within the margin for error."  
"Are you all right?" He took one of Elisa's hands in both of his.  
"What can I do?"  
"Just -- ooch!" She clamped down hard on his fingers. "Just be  
here."  
Now he understood why males both human and gargoyle  
traditionally had avoided the rookery and the delivery room. It was  
terrible to see his mate in pain, to know he was partly responsible, and to  
have there be nothing he could do.  
The murmur of voices in the hall told him the entire clan was  
gathered outside, eagerly awaiting the birth of their newest member.  
"Can ... can you have someone ..." Elisa panted, "... get my  
folks? I'd like ... to have Mom here."  
Goliath passed that duty along to Angela, then asked the doctor  
how long it would be.  
"She's already five centimeters," Masters said. "Moving along  
pretty quick. Before midnight, I'd think. So far, she and the baby are both  
doing fine."  
Rather than call, Angela drafted Brooklyn and Broadway to come  
with her and literally pick up the Mazas, while Lex contacted the  
Labyrinth to inform Talon he was going to be an uncle.  
Goliath still felt helpless, even as he was sponging Elisa's  
forehead with cool water and helping her walk between contractions. The  
rest of the females had made it look easy, thanks to the design of their  
pelvises. None of their labors had been this severe, yet Masters swore this  
was a quick and simple labor. Goliath's estimation of humans went up a  
notch.  
Diane Maza brought an air of take-charge competency with her,  
which eased Goliath's nerves quite a bit. Together, they helped Elisa into  
the birthing-chair, which supported her in a more or less upright position  
and let her body work more efficiently to deliver the baby.  
"You didn't give her any painkillers?" Diane asked.  
"We weren't sure what effect it would have on the baby,"  
Masters replied.  
"I'm okay, Mom, really," Elisa said, breathing steadily and in  
sync with Goliath as they'd practiced from the Lamaze videos.  
The digital clock proclaimed it to be 11:53 when Masters  
announced that the baby was crowning. Elisa bore down hard, shaking  
from the effort. Her sweat-slick back was pressed against Goliath's chest,  
his arms around her as he looked down over her shoulders.  
"Again," Masters urged.  
"Come on, honey, you can do it," Diane said.  
She pushed again, every muscle rigid. The baby's head emerged,  
and then the shoulders, and then the entire body sliding loose into the  
doctor's capable hands.  
11:58.  
"It's a girl," Masters announced jubilantly.  
Elisa sobbed and laughed, clinging to Goliath, who was  
awestruck and amazed by what he'd just witnessed. "Let me see her!"  
"Let me clean her up a little first," Diane said, whisking the baby  
to a waiting plastic tub of warm water. As she immersed her  
granddaughter, a wail rose to the ceiling.  
"Okay, let's get rid of the placenta," Masters instructed.  
"Another good push ought to do it."  
Moments later, Goliath carried Elisa to the waiting hospital bed  
and smoothed back her hair. Diane approached, carrying an infant  
swaddled in a clean towel.  
"Elisa, honey, she's beautiful," Diane said, placing the baby on  
Elisa's lap.  
Goliath peeled back the folds of the towel, and they looked upon  
their daughter.  
Wings that shaded to deep lavender were wrapped tightly around  
her tiny body. Her skin was a touch darker than Elisa's, her head covered  
with fine silky/downy sable hair. At the outer edge of each eyebrow was a  
single bump, barely more than a nub, hardly noticeable. Her feet were  
delicate and clawed, three-toed and high-arched as they'd seen on the  
ultrasound, but small, no bigger than the feet of a normal human baby.  
She wailed again, waving little five-fingered fists.  
"Hey, there," Elisa said, tears of happiness running down her  
face.  
"Hello, my daughter," Goliath said.   
At once, the baby stopped wailing and opened eyes that were so  
dark they were almost black. Her lips quivered as she searched the faces  
above her.  
Goliath extended one finger, and gently caressed the soft cheek.  
The baby's mouth turned toward him, seeking.  
"She's hungry," Diane said, and helped Elisa put the baby to her  
breast.  
"Yowch!"  
"Good nursing reflex," Masters observed. He was standing back,  
making rapid notes.  
The door inched open and Angela peeked in. "Can we see?  
Please, Father?"  
"Come and meet your sister," Goliath said.  
The clan crowded around, startling the baby into flaring her  
wings, but she quieted and returned to the business of feeding while the  
others oohed and aahed. Elektra burst into an alarming fit of joyful tears,  
Broadway patting her on the back.  
"Ye've done well," Hudson told Goliath and Elisa.  
"What are you going to name her?" Aiden asked.  
Goliath and Elisa exchanged a glance. "We hadn't discussed it,"  
Elisa said. "But I know what I'd like to call her." She clasped the pendant  
Elektra had given her.  
"Yes," Goliath said. "Her name will be Amber."  
  
* *  
  
The End  
  
  
  



End file.
